


We Walk by Grace

by CatiDono



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Dark, Dubious Consent, Godstiel: Castiel as God, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mind Rape, Mindfuck, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, angel rabies, sort of, this is just as weird as it sounds, very dark, very hurt dean winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:50:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 127,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatiDono/pseuds/CatiDono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angels don't get sick, until they do. And Dean Winchester can handle any threat, until he can't.<br/>Set somewhere after season 7, but nobody went to Purgatory.   Slight AU, massive canon divergence, and pre-established Destiel. Also wild expansion of the meager canonical properties of angelic Grace.  [RP style fic; much better and longer description inside.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors' Note: Hey y'all! This intro is gonna be especially long, so bear with me. There's a lot of backstory to cover. 
> 
> Okay, here are the main things to know about our 'verse.
> 
> Cas, fallen and almost Grace-less, has an apartment and a job in Connecticut. Sam is happily attending Yale Law School with a full ride. Dean is working hunts all alone in Maine. He and Cas have, miraculously, discovered their feelings for each other via phone calls and texts, and both have used the L word! (not lesbians, Scott.) There has been no actual anything though because, as I mentioned, their relationship is all very long distance.
> 
> When the fic starts, Dean is investigating a series of supernatural killings and attacks that have been worse than usual; more vicious, less predictable, and the things don't seem to worry much about getting caught. It's like the monsters are all on steroids mixed with hallucinogens. Not pretty. A few months ago, on a hunt, he met a group of well-meaning but very under-prepared college students who want to be hunters. 
> 
> On top of this, Dean's been having nightmares for the past few days. Terrible dreams that scare the crap out of him, but that he point blank refuses to tell Cas about. Frustrated and worried, Cas decides to sneak into Dean's head one night and eavesdrop on his dream…
> 
> VERY IMPORTANT: Not this chapter so much, but this fic gets dark and scary very quickly, as bad as or worse than anything else I've written. Just gonna say, in case you missed the tags, this has warnings for violence, dub-con, non-con, character death, self-harm, and suicide attempt. Please don't read if anything mentioned above upsets you!

 

 

**Chapter 1**

" **In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep" ~** _ **River of Dreams**_ **, Billy Joel**

_This was it. Dean paused by the entrance, holding out his arms to slow down the four young hunters who were with him. "Me first. Stay quiet, and don't get yourselves killed." In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have brought them with him, but he needed backup and they were all he had. They had one chance to get this right, to destroy whatever had been making all the supernatural things in a 50 mile radius hulk out and act insane. Cautiously, Dean pushed the door open and headed inside._

_There was nothing notable about the room he entered except the lingering smell of charred wood. Dean pressed forward, the others spreading out behind him. He went into the next room._

_There, standing in the center of the room with his back to him, was a figure in a familiar trench coat._

" _Hello, Dean." Cas turned to face him. "I've been waiting for you." Then the angel disappeared._

_Before Dean knew what was happening, he heard screams behind him and he spun, lunging forward to grab Cas by the back of his coat and stop him, but the angel moved too quickly. A moment later, the four kids Dean had trained, had trusted, had gotten involved in this whole mess, were dead on the floor, blood seeping from their wounds._

_Castiel slipped his angel blade back into his coat and looked at Dean._

" _No," Dean whispered. "No, Cas, this isn't you. It can't be."_

_Cas smiled, stepping towards Dean. "I thought you'd never get here, little one," he said, voice swelling with power so that a window shattered and Dean had to press his hands to his ears to protect himself. "Come."_

" _Cas, please, you've got to pull yourself together."_

 _Light was shining through Cas's eyes now, and he laughed, a sound that made Dean fall to his knees in the kids' blood and scream in pain_ _._ _"My hunter," he said. "Look at me."_

_Dean didn't, though; he kept his eyes squeezed shut. When Cas fell silent, he could hear the sound of footsteps coming towards him. He had to get out of here. Had to leave. But a moment later, Castiel took his face in his hands almost tenderly. "Look at me, beloved," he repeated, fingers slipping up over Dean's eyelids and gently lifting them._

_Dean looked, and his sight was burning, but Cas was beautiful, more beautiful than anything Dean had ever seen, and even as Dean screamed he smiled in awe. The angel's true form had a half-dozen faces, and each of those faces stretched into something akin to smiles in return. Then Dean saw no more._

_He was helpless. Cas had stripped him of his weapons and his phone, and he never let Dean leave his side. Dean could only listen as the angel moved his way down the East Coast, slaughtering all those who stood in his way. When he tried to fight the monster that had once been his friend, Cas only laughed and held him. Effortlessly deflected his cries and his blows and his struggles until Dean was worn out, and then cradled him close like a sick child. And so Dean stayed with him, unable to fight and unable to run._

_Sam caught up with them a few weeks after Maine. He came in too rashly, too eager to fight, and Castiel was ready for him. The angel moved away from Dean, leaving the hunter in darkness as Dean shouted for him to stop, stumbling along with arms outstretched and falling to the ground. A second later, the air was filled with cries that weren't his own, screams that were terrible and pained and almost inhuman, and then all was silent._

Castiel tore out of the dream with a half-shout that probably woke the couple next door, but right now they were the farthest thing from his mind. Part of him was glad he had entered Dean's nightmares, because now he knew that Dean would never have told him what exactly they were. Not when they featured Castiel — he tried not to think about the way it had felt for Dean to have his eyes scorched out of their sockets. And this was the third night in a row that Dean had suffered through it? One thing was certain, the dream was not normal. Something or someone was sending it to the hunter; it was too vivid, too realistic to be natural. Castiel was seized by an irresistible urge to fly to his hunter and just hold him, to whisper over and over that he would never let that happen, and to find whatever was slipping into Dean's head and destroy it.

The last embers of his Grace flickered as Castiel focused on them, willing them into flame. He had to fly, just once more. Had to get to where Dean was. With effort, Castiel shut away his fragmented thoughts, closed off the panic, and dropped into a meditative state. He  _could_  fly there, he thought fiercely. He just needed to prepare. It wasn't easy, but he ignored the part of him that warned that Dean wouldn't appreciate finding out that Cas had spied on him, that he would be afraid of the angel. When his mind presented him with images of Dean angel-proofing his apartment, of the look of terror on his face when he saw Cas in the doorway, Castiel shoved them away with single-minded determination. Dean needed help. And nothing was going to keep Castiel away from him now.

 

Somewhere in Maine, Dean slowly woke. He tried to shed the dream in layers, first discarding the ringing of screams in his ears, then divorcing himself from the darkness, forcing his eyes to open and  _see_ , take in the faint shapes illuminated by the soft blue light from his bedside clock. But he couldn't get rid of the deep trembling of his limbs, the terror that strangled him as surely as a noose as he huddled like a child under his blankets.  _It wasn't real_ , he repeated to himself.  _It's just a dream._

His reassurances didn't calm him and he sat up in bed, placing his face in his hands and concentrating on the rasping of his breathing.  _Damn it._ Cas would want him to text him or call him, tell him that he'd woken up from the same dream a third time, a dream that was more real than reality, a dream that Dean could never tell his angel about. But that would just upset Cas, so Dean swung his legs out of bed. There were times when drinking was the only solution, and this was one of those times, no matter Cas's disapproval. He brought the fleece blanket from his bed with him, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cape and clutching it protectively in front of his chest with one fist as he walked toward the bedroom door. A soft rustle sounded behind him, familiar, but long unheard. Angel wings. Dean spun around, heart hammering in his chest. It couldn't be.

"Hello, Dean." The instant Castiel landed, he realized that he had grossly overestimated his own abilities. The room around him was being swallowed by moving patches of darkness, and he swayed on his feet, nearly falling before he put a hand on the wall to steady himself. "Dean, I'm sorry." Castiel panted, feeling the exhaustion threatening to overtake him. His whole body ached, especially the wispy shadows that used to be his wings, but he couldn't give in now. He had to make Dean understand. Castiel's next words were jumbled as he forced them out of his mouth, and he knew they weren't making sense. "I went into your dream tonight. I know it was wrong; I'm sorry. But I was so worried and—Dean, I would never do that. But that isn't the important thing." Castiel realized he was somehow sitting on the floor, but he couldn't remember his legs giving out. "There's something causing them, some kind of magic, but I couldn't—I couldn't trace it." Castiel's eyes closed and he fell to the side, but a hand wrapped around his arm, keeping him from cracking his head on the floor. "I wouldn't, Dean," he muttered hazily, and kept repeating the words over and over until true unconsciousness claimed him.

Cas. It wasn't fair that Dean's first reaction upon turning around and seeing the angel,  _his_  angel, was fear. He lurched away and his back slammed against the door, his mind bright with images of Cas as he'd last seen him, no,  _dreamed_ him. Cas with light bursting from his skin into a great and terrible figure that Dean couldn't see so much as  _feel_ , his bones humming from pure angelic power, his mind swallowed by the sublime, his eyes turning to fire and his throat raw from screaming. This wasn't the Castiel who'd taken him and led him through the dark like a crippled pet, barely speaking to him, just killing those who offended him and coming to comfort Dean with a rough hand placed on Dean's head or shoulder or the small of his back when it was over. This wasn't the Castiel whose actions forced Sam back into hunting, who meant to murder Dean's brother in front of him with Dean floundering out into the darkness, clutching at nothingness to try to stop them from killing each other. That Castiel didn't exist.

This was Dean's Cas. But his Cas couldn't travel like that, was barely an angel anymore, and here he was right in front of Dean. Apologizing.

Cas wasn't supposed to know about that, had promised not to go into Dean's head. For a moment, Dean wanted to scream at him, but then Cas collapsed to the floor, so Dean pushed his fear and anger back because  _goddammit_ , his angel needed him. He grabbed at Cas's arm to keep him upright as Cas mumbled some nonsense about magic. A moment later, Cas was out, his last thought unfinished on his lips.

Dean lowered him slowly to the floor and took a deep breath. This was Cas. He reached out a hand and touched Cas's cheek gently.  _Real_. Even though dream Cas had felt real. Dean shuddered and shrugged his shoulders as if to physically shake the dream from him. It didn't work.

Even so, he lifted Cas onto his bed and carefully settled the angel's head on a pillow, then untied the black dress shoes, pulling them from Cas's feet and tossing them into the corner. There was nothing else he could really do. Cas had overdone it. And now there was another flicker of fear, a painful reminder that this was  _his_  angel and Dean  _loved_ him, that he wasn't some monster from a dream, and he was hurt. Dean draped the blanket he'd earlier had around his shoulders over Cas and shuffled into the kitchen. He grabbed his whisky from the cabinet where he'd let it rest unopened for a month, normally taking a beer instead when he wanted to drink. As he returned to the bedroom, he pulled up a chair from the kitchenette, placing it next to the bed and straddling it so that the back of the chair made a barrier between him and Cas. He opened the bottle.

Castiel came back to consciousness slowly, painfully. His head hurt so badly that he could almost ignore the burning sensation in the rest of him, like he had simultaneously pulled all of his muscles. Opening his eyes, he winced at the brightness outside. That meant it was day, which meant he had been unconscious for at least six hours. The memory of the last time he had seen Dean, the flash of naked terror in his eyes, pricked Castiel to full consciousness. Slowly, carefully, he rolled his head until he could look around the room, realizing as he did so that he had been moved to the bed. "Dean?" he whispered, praying that the hunter would respond.

"Hey, Cas," Dean murmured in reply. He was slumped over the chair, edges of its back pressing into his armpits, but he didn't care to move. His head was sideways along his upper right arm, and he blinked blearily at Cas. Somehow he'd fallen asleep. The whiskey must have helped. Of course, now the bottle was under his chair, where Cas might see it and bitch at him, so Dean carefully moved it with his foot until it was safely under the bed. No need to worry him over nothing. "You gonna tell me what happened? How the hell did you get here?"

Castiel could have cried. Not only had Dean answered, but when Castiel finally forced his eyes to focus on the hunter's face, he saw no trace of the fear from earlier. He did smell the alcohol fumes lingering in the room, but that wasn't a fight he could get into right now. He smiled tentatively at Dean, suddenly overwhelmed by just being able to see him again. Then Dean asked his questions, and the reality of the situation came crashing down around him. He struggled to a sitting position, resting his head against the peeling wallpaper and staring fixedly at the foot of the bed until the room stopped spinning. Although he would no doubt tell Dean the whole story eventually, Castiel decided to answer the easy question first. "I flew. The journey cost me more than I had expected, but I seem to have made it here in one piece. I'm not sure I could fly back anytime soon, though."

"Reckless," Dean said, tentatively reaching out a hand and touching Cas's shoulder before withdrawing it quickly. He stood, turned the chair around, and sat back down, settling his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "You shouldn't have come; you're not strong enough." That much had been abundantly clear from the moment Cas had landed. "You had me worried. And I didn't think you could fly anymore." Easy talk first, because how could he start off by yelling at Cas, with his slumped shoulders and tired eyes? Even if part of him desperately wanted to take the fallen angel by the lapels of his trench coat and shake, saying  _how could you,_ and  _you promised me you'd stay out of my head,_  and  _I didn't want you to know about that dream for a damn good reason_. And, despite the circumstances, he  _was_ happy to see Cas.

"I didn't think I could fly either, but..." Castiel trailed off. There was no fear of Cas in Dean's eyes, but there was a tightness in his expression that spoke of frustration, anger, and maybe a little fear for him. "I had to come, Dean. What you're… experiencing..." Castiel's voice hitched slightly, even though he tried to keep it steady. "They're more than dreams. Something is causing them." He waited, hoping that Dean would be able to forgive him for breaking his promise.

"And you know that because you decided to fly around inside my brain after you promised not to. Nice, Cas." His voice was a little harsher than he'd intended, but he couldn't say he cared all that much. What Cas had done to him was wrong, even though he had good intentions. Dean would forgive him, he knew, but not before this conversation.

Castiel wilted into the bed, trying not to look like Dean had just kicked him in the stomach. Dean was right, he knew. Castiel had no right to poke around Dean's dreams, and now that his initial panic for Dean's well-being had faded, he realized how uncomfortable he must be making the hunter. Dean hadn't wanted Castiel to know, but he had taken the knowledge anyway, and now Dean might not trust him anymore. The thought sent an icy jolt through his heart, but Castiel tried not to focus on it. "Dean, I am sorry. I know that what I did was wrong and there is no excuse for it."  _Not even that I was worried about the man I love_ , he added silently. "But no matter the content, those dreams are being influenced from an outside source, something powerfully magical. It may be the same thing that's been causing chaos up here."

Sheesh, Cas could look pathetic if he wanted to. It was enough to make Dean feel bad for an instant before he stifled the feeling. "What is it? You were talking about magic before. How can that be causing all this crap, Cas? Witches don't drive monsters crazy like they've been up here. And why would a witch want to make me have bad dreams?"  _And I still am pissed,_ he wanted to say, but Cas had already forced the conversation on and frankly, he didn't want to fight with Cas when he looked like he'd just run a gauntlet.

"I don't know, Dean. I've never heard of anything like it before." Castiel knew that Dean was still angry, and suddenly that seemed much more important to him than whatever was causing the supernatural chaos around them. "Dean," he began, then hesitated. He didn't know what to say. Watching Dean's face, he swallowed hard before continuing. "I am sorry. I took from you without your consent, and you have a right to be angry about it. But I would do it again if I had to." His eyes fixed on Dean's, silently begging him to understand, to forgive. "If I were troubled, you would do everything in your power to find out why so that you could help, you know you would."

"I'm not  _troubled_." Dean frowned at the angel. "And I can't get into your head anyways, so it's kind of a moot point. Don't go poking around in there again, you hear me?" Dean knew that Cas would say "Yes, I hear you," but one thing was absolutely true about what Cas had just said: Cas would do it again if he felt he had to, which basically meant he would do it again, period. It was only a question of when. "It's a matter of trust, Cas." He crossed his arms loosely in front of him and glared.

"Yes, Dean, I hear you." Cas was still feeling very shaky, but he forced himself to swing his legs out of the bed anyway and sit facing Dean. For all their joking, flirting, and promising, this was the first time he had seen Dean in person since they had admitted to loving each other, and now that he was finally only a few inches from Dean, Cas was nervous. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and brushed his fingers along Dean's cheek. "I missed you, Dean,' he whispered, afraid the hunter would pull back from the touch, or worse, smack Castiel's hand away.

Dean relaxed when Cas touched him. Yes, this was how they were now, Dean sitting here knee to knee with his angel, letting Cas touch his face. This was good, and what the hell, he could put off being angry for a while for this. So he uncrossed his arms and caught Cas's hand as he pulled it away from his cheek. "I missed you too, Cas." He smiled now, blinking quickly a few times and saying, "I didn't expect seeing you the first time after everything to go exactly like this, though."

Castiel gave a weary chuckle. "Things never do seem to go as planned around us." Exhaustion was creeping back over him, and he shivered slightly as he realized just how close to completely burning himself out he'd actually come. Banishing the thought, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Dean's affectionately and enjoying the way Dean's incredible green eyes widened. "I love you, Dean," he breathed, wanting to be the first to say the words in person, to hear how well they rolled off his tongue.

Dean smiled and put his hands on either side of Cas's face, thumbs flat against Cas's cheekbones, and took a moment to appreciate the feel of Cas against his forehead, the touch of their noses together. Cas's breath was warm against his face, heightened, and Dean breathed in deeply. Exhaled. Another moment, another fragmented instant and Dean could feel seconds ticking, Cas not moving, him not moving, everything perfectly balanced. Then Dean tilted his head and pressed their lips together.

It was a quiet kiss, gentle, almost chaste. Basically just lips against lips for a moment before Dean pulled back and said, "I love you too," and kissed Cas again, more intensely this time.

Castiel leaned into the kiss, warmth exploding in his chest. He almost couldn't believe it was real, that he was finally here with Dean, but he was and it was better than he could have imagined.  _I love you_ , Dean said, and Castiel was filled with a wild joy. He deepened the kiss, raising his hands to cover Dean's and hold them tightly. A jolt of something like electricity shot through him, and he broke away with a gasp. "Dean, did you feel that?"

"Is something wrong?" Dean studied Cas and slipped his hand out of the angel's to run it along the Cas's face, resting his thumb on his bottom lip. He had a strange expression on his face and Dean's heart sank, because damn it all if Cas didn't think this felt right now, after everything that had been said between them, everything they'd experienced. Dean dropped his hand from Cas and leaned back.

"I- no. No Dean, nothing's wrong." Cas saw the flash of uncertainty in Dean's eyes and caught his hands as he pulled away.

"What happened, then?"

Castiel shook his head. "Probably nothing, Dean." He tried to stand up, fully intending to settle in Dean's lap, but the room slid sideways and he dropped back onto the bed quickly.

"Whoa, Cas!" Dean lurched forward out of his chair and grabbed the angel's elbow to steady him. Cas was shaking his head slightly as if to clear it and Dean watched him carefully. After a moment, he said slowly, "You should have something to eat. Why don't you lie down a minute while I get you something, okay?"

"All right, Dean." Castiel wanted to argue, but he couldn't find the energy. Instead, he carefully stretched out on the bed again, turning his head to nuzzle into the pillow. It smelled like Dean, which made him smile, but Castiel still felt like something was wrong. His heart seemed to be beating too fast, and a tingling was spreading from his lips that probably had to do with Dean's kisses.

"You like omelets, Cas?" Dean shouted from the other room, rummaging in the fridge to find the eggs.

"I think so," Castiel called back, "but Dean, I don't think I'm hungry. I must still be worn out from the flight, I apologize."

Dean shook his head to himself. It was amazing how Cas would sometimes get into these moods where he'd try as hard as possible to deny any change from his old angel ways when he had no need for food or sleep or anything of the kind, even though Dean knew things were different now. He was like a child who got cranky and said he wasn't hungry even though he absolutely, most certainly was. Besides, Dean didn't really know what to do to help him besides feed him at this point. Build up his strength again. "You need to eat something. Drink something too. And then you get to take a nap, understand?"

"Dean." Castiel would never admit that he was pouting. "I do not think that feeding me is particularly important right now. I did eat last night."

"And now it's day. Breakfast, Cas." He glanced at the clock. "Well. Almost lunch."

Grudgingly, Castiel lay back and allowed Dean to cook him breakfast. Lunch. He still didn't want food. He was beginning to feel even worse than he had upon waking, which made no sense. He rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in the sheets that smelled like Dean, trying to distract himself from the dizziness that threatened to overtake him. "Dean, I don't feel very well," he moaned.

Dean paused for a moment, considered the eggs still cooking in the frying pan, then turned the stove off and removed them from the heat. He walked back to the bedroom and entered it, walking over to the bed and hesitantly sitting down on it, putting his hand on Cas's back. "You really overdid it, didn't you. What's wrong, buddy?"

"Don't know," Cas muttered, rolling his shoulders under Dean's hand. "M'tired. Feel sick."

"Okay." Dean paused, rubbed Cas's back absently. "Let's do something else. You get to drink some water for me. And have some crackers with it. Then sleep. But let's get something into you first, okay?"

Cas didn't really respond, but Dean got up, filled a glass with water, and grabbed a box of crackers from the cabinet before coming back. "Here."

Castiel didn't really want anything to eat or drink, but Dean acting like a mother hen was so endearing that he managed to roll back onto his side and wait patiently for Dean to return with his water and crackers. He drank half of the glass and ate a few crackers, but couldn't make himself finish. "I just want to sleep, Dean," he grumbled, eyes fluttering closed.

"Don't sleep in your clothes, Cas, that can't be comfortable."

"Doesn't matter." Castiel was really beyond the point of proper words now, and he wasn't sure if Dean understood him. nonetheless, when Dean leaned down to take away the glass and crackers, he found the strength to wrap an arm around the hunter's shoulders and tug him down onto the bed next to him.

"Cas, hang on, just let me put this stuff away, okay?" He shrugged off Cas's grip with a tight feeling in his stomach. The eggs had burned from the leftover heat of the pan. He'd deal with them later. Now, he walked back and closed the bedroom door behind him. The blinds on the window were still drawn, so the room was dim even with the noonday sun high outside. Dean padded to the bed and tugged on Cas's sleeve. "Come on, lemme get this off you, Cas."

"Dean-" Cas reached after his hunter when Dean left without opening his eyes. He still felt like the room was swimming, and he wanted to hold onto something to keep it all from drifting off without him. He heard the man move around the room, and when Dean came back and tugged at Cas's arm, he grudgingly let his coat slide off his shoulders. Dean had to physically roll him across the bed to get the rest of it off, but Castiel didn't mind. Once the thick fabric was gone, though, he realized that he was cold in just his shirt and slacks, and he starting shaking almost immediately. "Dean?" he asked again, wishing the hunter would just hurry up and lie down.

"What, Cas?" Dean asked, pulling the blankets back and bodily moving Cas to get them out from under him. He crawled in next to the angel and pulled the blankets over both of them, snuggling up against Cas and gently kissing his neck. Angels weren't supposed to get like this. Cas shouldn't have flown. He should have known better.

"'M cold Dean. 'M sorry." Cas curled himself against Dean's solid, comforting warmth. His mind was hazy with fatigue and his body ached in places he hadn't realized humans had muscles. Despite it all, Castiel kept his mind focused on Dean's scent and Dean's reassuring kisses up his neck. Eventually he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Cas sleeping next to Dean was comforting and somewhat terrifying at the same time. Comforting because Dean could listen to his soft breathing, feel his heat, hug him close and let his mind whirl about the sheer unbelievability that he could be here in bed with someone he loved right next to him, with  _Cas_  right next to him, and he knew that he didn't deserve to be so happy. And then terror because Cas was sick and maybe Cas wouldn't want to be next to him in the morning and because he knew that if he fell asleep, which was likely given the poor sleep he'd gotten the night before, he might dream again.

Eventually, he did fall asleep, nose touching the back of Cas's neck, arm slung over his stomach, blankets and shared body heat pushing him just to the edge of being too warm. And while he slept, he dreamt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious about this monstrosity's origin story?
> 
> This fic started as a collaboration I did with my friend Cody. It grew out of a bad habit we got into of RPing over the phone. That is, he would text me saying "CAAAAS!" and I would text back saying "DEEEEAN!" and it would devolve from there. Our boys had many wild adventures, (one of them, involving Alistair, was sort of reincarnated as another fic under the title of "Mine",) and unexpected parties. (lol jk). And then one day I said, "Cody, what if Cas caught angel rabies?" and thus this fic was born. (The angel rabies ended up being less than a quarter of the overall plot, of course, but that doesn't matter.) The piece is written in alternating POVs between Dean and Cas and eventually Sam, switching pretty much every other paragraph. It's similar to the way RP blogs on tumblr work, if you read that sort of thing. Very new experience for the both of us.
> 
> Thanks for reading, we both hope you like it!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything hits the fan between this chapter and the next one. You've been warned. Also we refuse to apologize for our gross misuse of song lyrics as chapter headers. :P

**  
Chapter 2**

**"Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats" ~ _Before He Cheats_ , Carrie Underwood**

Dean woke when the dream ended, body shaking and cheeks wet with tears, and there was Cas fast asleep beside him. Dean shrank away as slowly and carefully as he could, wiping his face on his pillow and rolling so that his back was to Cas. He could stay here for Cas when he was sick. He could. But the trembling didn't subside for another five minutes, and he was hyper-aware that Cas was right there next to him, which did nothing to calm his terror.

So he slid out of bed, grabbed some clothes from his dresser, and went to take a hot shower. When the scalding heat didn't make a difference, he turned it to ice cold and stepped out of the shower shivering. Distractions. He could distract himself, then go back to Cas and be there when he woke up. He thought of the whiskey under the bed and wished he'd had the sense to put away before so that he could drink it now. Settling for a beer instead, Dean set about scrubbing the eggs off the frying pan and grazing, taking a handful of food from this and that as he went about the kitchen.

A knock at the door made him jump, still not free of the last vestiges of the dream. He went to the door cautiously, grabbing a handgun from the kitchen drawer as he went. Looking through the peephole, he saw that his nervousness had been unnecessary; it was just the kids. Well, two of them. Andy and Clem. He sighed and put the gun back, then opened the door for them.

"Yo, Winchester."

Dean sighed again. He didn't know why Andy thought that it was cool to greet someone with "yo," but it the only way he said hello.

"Hey." Dean wasn't necessarily unhappy to see the kids, but since Cas was currently passed out on his bed, now probably wasn't the best time.

Andy had a hand on Clem's shoulder and looked vaguely annoyed. Clem, though, was biting her lip nervously and looking around the apartment.

"What's wrong?"

She just shrugged a little and shook Andy's hand off her shoulder.

"Clem had a nightmare and she's freaking out," Andy said. "Wants me to pick up Jenny and Keith, bring them back here." He laughed, wrinkling his nose. "I mean, come on, Clem, you don't really want me to pull them out of class because you had a bad dream, do you? Just chill here until you feel better; don't drag the rest of us in it."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said. "Since when is my apartment the place to gather when someone gets spooked?"

"Since you told us this was a safe place and we could come here if we thought we weren't safe, dumbass," Clem said, glaring at Dean. Right. But that had been before Cas showed up. "Besides, Dean, you know that I don't get scared that easy. Just tell Andy to get Jenny and Keith, okay? It wasn't just a nightmare, Dean, I swear." She looked at him with pleading eyes, puppy dog eyes, and Dean thought for a moment that she and Sam would get along.

Then he remembered his own dream and his breath caught slightly. If Cas was right… But why would Clem be targeted with magic dreams? It wasn't like she was much of a threat to a witch, especially when compared to Dean… She was a kid, after all. Strange to call them kids and remember that when he was their age, he'd been hunting for years and firmly believed that he was one hundred percent an adult. And when he looked at Clem and Andy, he could see that same conviction.

"All right," he said at last. "Bring the others here. Just in case."

"Thank you, Dean," Clem said, relaxing slightly.

Andy turned to go, adjusting his down coat on his shoulders.

"One thing, though." Dean paused, considering how to tell them about Cas. "A buddy of mine is sick and sleeping in the other room, so you guys have to keep it down, okay?"

Clem nodded and gave him a little smile.

"A buddy of yours?" Andy demanded. The kid was annoying sometimes.

"Yup," Dean replied. "An old friend. Comrade in arms."

Andy's dark eyes met Dean's for a long moment before he said, "Why didn't you tell us about him? Tell us he was coming?"

"Because it was none of your business."

"Okay, well, now it is. Who is he?"

Dean leveled a glare at the man. "My friend," he repeated slowly, as if Andy was hard of hearing. "His name is Cas. He's sick. It's not your problem."

Andy frowned but left, slamming the door behind him. Dick.

Dean turned to Clem, who was still visibly shaken. "That bad?"

She nodded sharply. "I don't understand it."

Dean paused. "You okay?"

She shook her head slightly, then closed the distance between them and hugged him hard. Oh. Okay. He patted her head awkwardly for a moment before giving in and hugging her back.

"You know," he said softly, "I get it. The dream, I mean." He swallowed, patted her on the back. "I've been having some strangely real dreams myself, lately."

"You have?" Her voice was muffled.

"Yeah…"

A normal person would have decided this was the time to break the hug off, but not Clem, it seemed. Instead, she hugged him harder—if that was possible—and said, "I'm so sorry."

Great. Now she was trying to comfort him. Dean made a mental note to never share anything personal with the kids ever again. He wasn't even sure why he had said as much as he did. Probably the puppy dog eyes. Or maybe the nightmare had freaked him out more than he'd thought.

Castiel stirred on the bed, woken from dreamless sleep by the sound of voices. The first thing he noticed was that Dean was no longer stretched out next to him, and he sat bolt upright in alarm. Scanning the room, he saw nothing out of place but his trench coat, draped over the foot of the bed. Cas grabbed it and shrugged it on. The voices murmured again and Cas's ears pricked up. It sounded like Dean and a female that he didn't know. The angel was halfway out of the room before he registered how healthy he felt. The chills and weakness from the night before were gone as though they had never been, and even the fatigue that he should still be working through had been cut down to almost nothing. Castiel was still trying to take stock of his condition when he walked through the doorway and saw the young woman with her arms wrapped tightly around Dean. To his surprise and annoyance, his hunter was hugging the girl back, and Castiel felt his teeth grinding. A very human reaction of displeasure that he did not usually indulge in. "Good morning, Dean," Cas said sharply. "Did you sleep well?"

"Cas?" Dean disentangled himself from Clem quickly and stepped away from her. "Hey! Um." Okay, well this was awkward. He hadn't done anything wrong, but Cas was clearly pissed. "It's not morning anymore."

Castiel leveled his most piercing gaze at Dean. The one that he knew made the hunter very uncomfortable. "That's hardly the point." Switching his attention to the girl Dean had been embracing, the angel took a few steps closer. He wasn't exactly looming. Much. "Who is this?"

"Her name is Clem. She's one of the kids who have been hunting around the area." He paused, shifted. "Clem, this is Cas."

"Nice to meet you," she said, narrowing her eyes at Cas. Great. She probably thought Cas was a dick. No real surprise, because right now Cas  _was_  being a dick.

Castiel glanced back and forth between Dean and the girl, assessing the situation. He was almost certain that this was the one Dean had claimed was attracted to him.

"Castiel," he corrected, moving across the room until he was standing next to Dean. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Clem. What brings you here?" The least he could do was be civil, Castiel told himself.

"I wanted to see Dean," Clem answered shortly.

Cas wasn't sure why he was feeling so possessive, except perhaps that now that the girl was in front of his eyes he could see for himself that she would be considered attractive by most men. And Dean did have a history with attractive women. Perhaps he didn't yet realize what being committed to Castiel meant. Pointedly, Cas leaned over and gave Dean a swift kiss on the cheek. "Did you sleep all right?" he asked again.

Dean flushed slightly. He didn't want to have this conversation now, but he didn't want Clem to think he was lying to Cas if he brushed off the question. She was watching him with a guileless curiosity and only a faint expression of surprise around her eyes and forehead.

"Another nightmare," he growled, stepping away from Cas. "But I'm fine," he added before Cas could express some sort of concern. "Clem's been having some weird dreams too. She's scared."

Clem pressed her lips together and crossed her arms over her chest. Apparently her openness about this to him didn't extend to Cas. "I'm fine."

"I doubt that." Castiel responded. "If you're experiencing dreams similar to Dean's, then your mind is being influenced by strange magic, meaning you are most certainly not 'fine.'" Cas wanted to take another step and close the gap that Dean had created between them, but he held himself back. For some reason Dean wanted space, so Castiel would give it to him. For now. "It's too dark in here," Castiel observed suddenly, glancing at the shaded windows. He was feeling claustrophobic, for lack of a better word, and so almost without thinking he waved a hand at the curtains, pushing them back with a thought. Sunlight poured in, and he smiled happily. "Much better."

Clem gasped slightly and sidestepped towards Dean, glancing between him and Cas. "What the hell was that?" She had pulled a knife from god knew where and looked nearly ready to kill someone. Dean wasn't sure if it was him or Cas she wanted to stab more. For his part, Dean could only stare at Cas. He didn't know how the hell Cas got Grace again, but honestly it freaked him out. Dean thought about his nightmare and had to suppress a shudder. He was being ridiculous.

"I didn't tell you this, Clem, but Cas isn't exactly human." He shot Cas a glare before turning back to her. "He's actually an angel. A fallen one, but—"

"Angels don't kiss hunters!" she protested, as if this was the most logical argument to raise.

At the girl's words, Castiel's eyes narrowed. With a small concentration of will, he flew across the room to stand behind Dean, wrapping his arms around the hunter's shoulders and kissing his neck once on either side. "This angel does," he growled at Clem, liking her less and less. "Is there a problem?" He knew she couldn't see his wings but he mantled them over him and Dean anyway, an instinctive display of intimidation.

The lights flickered briefly, reacting to his Grace. His still-expanding Grace, Castiel realized, taking stock of his power once more. He felt good. Whole. The angel hadn't been this strong since before he had breached the gates of Hell to rescue Dean, and he couldn't bring himself to wonder at where his strength was coming from.

"You're the one who seems to have a problem," Clem said without missing a beat. The light display didn't seem to have fazed her, but she glanced at Dean with something akin to pity.

"Cas, what the hell is going on with you?" Dean demanded, flipping around under the angel's hands and pushing him lightly away from him. "Where did you get all this Grace from? And get  _off_  me, seriously!"

"I don't know, Dean. Does it matter? I can be more helpful to you now." Castiel was frustrated that Dean wasn't letting him close the distance between them, but he blamed the girl. Her presence was causing Dean to act strangely, and Castiel wished she would leave. "I should be strong enough now to trace the source of the magic from your dream." Returning his full attention to Dean, he raised one hand then lowered it slightly, remembering at the last moment that this was Dean, and Dean did not like Castiel inside his head or the dream that Castiel was about to force him to have. With a sharp turn, Cas placed two fingers against Clem's forehead instead, carefully manipulating his Grace to send her into sleep, where her nightmares lay. He noted with faint surprise that her dreams also featured her friends, and even Dean, dying horrible deaths at the hands of a monster. Clem herself survived, as Dean had, but she seemed to wish she had just been killed. Whatever attacked them first dispatched of the others, then— Castiel withdrew hurriedly, having obtained the information he needed. He didn't need to see anymore.

When Cas touched Clem's forehead, she went limp and Dean caught her. "What the hell did you do to her?" he asked, forcing calm into his voice and putting an arm under Clem's legs to lift her in his arms. Dean wanted to pull the girl away from Cas's touch, but was afraid of what might happen to her if he did. When Cas dropped his hand, Dean walked over to the couch and gently laid Clem on it, not looking at Cas. There was no explanation the angel could give him that would make this okay. As Dean settled her there, he tucked a lock of her dark hair that had fallen over her face behind her ear. "Come on, Clem."

"I did her no harm, Dean." Castiel explained stiffly. "I needed to find a sample of the magic to trace it, and you expressly forbade me from entering your mind again." Castiel's eyes unfocused slightly, as if he were looking at something beyond the room. "I made no such promise to Clem, and time is of the essence. The trail grows colder as the dream fades." He watched with displeasure as Dean arranged the girl on the sofa, not missing the way Dean moved a strand of her hair from her face. "She will be fine, Dean, but we must hurry, before the source of the magic moves or the trail is lost entirely." He held out a hand to Dean, sure that his hunter would take it. Castiel was telling the truth—Clem would be fine—but right now he just wanted Dean  _away_ from her.

There was literally no way Cas could think this was all right. And as anger grew in Dean, so did fear. "Okay," he said slowly, voice low in pitch and volume. "Who are you and what did you do with Cas?"

Clem stirred, blinking her eyes open and staring straight at the ceiling, a few tears falling down her cheeks. She was shaking.  _Dammit, Cas._

Castiel recoiled at the fear and anger in Dean's voice. "Dean, it's still me," he replied, confused. The confusion rapidly gave way to anger, the sort of angelic fury that had leveled cities in the Old Testament. Castiel was not sure who he was angry with, but the emotion was strong and difficult to control. The lights flickered again, one of the bulbs flaring brightly and then exploding with a pop. "I am only trying to help," Castiel tried to reason. He ignored the girl on the sofa, who was waking up just as he had said she would, and focused only on Dean. "No harm was done. Why are you afraid?"

Clem sat up now, stared over her shoulder at Cas, and leaned into Dean.

"I'm not afraid," Dean growled, "but the Cas I know would never do that to her without her say-so because the Cas I know isn't a dick with wings. And he doesn't blow out lights or close curtains with his Grace, because it's gone. The Cas I know doesn't say that he didn't hurt someone when he clearly did. So who the hell are you?"

"That's not him?" Clem whispered, turning her face to Dean. She grabbed hold of his sleeve. "Is he a monster? Should we kill him?"

The problem was a sinking part of Dean knew that it  _was_ Cas. It wasn't some monster in Cas's form. That was his angel, but twisted and… a flicker of his dream passed through his mind and he shuddered.

Castiel was having difficulty keeping his wrath in check, but when he saw Clem lean on his hunter, saw her holding his sleeve and asking if they should  _kill_ him, Cas snapped. Grace began to leak dangerously from the corners of his eyes, overflowing from the sea within him. His vessel felt too tight, the skin and bones around him too fragile.

"Release him," Castiel growled in a voice that made the pictures on the walls shudder. "I will not have you laying your hands on my hunter." His body was too warm but his mind was clear and cool. He had no desire to harm the girl, but Dean belonged to him and she needed to respect that. If she didn't, well. She was only human. Castiel shuddered at the thought, closing his eyes for a moment.  _That isn't how I'm supposed to think of people,_  he thought sadly. But when he opened his eyes and saw Clem there, still far too close to Dean, he decided that it didn't matter. Dean was his, they had claimed each other, and this woman was too close.

Dean froze and carefully shook Clem's hand off his shirt. He stood slowly, arms outstretched in front of him. "Take it easy, Cas," he said slowly, as if Cas were about to attack—which was entirely possible, now that he thought about it. Dean glanced at Clem. "She was just leaving."

Clem nodded, still shaking, and stood up. "I'm going, Cas. It's nice to meet you." She walked to the door.

Dean followed her to the threshold, whispering, "Don't let the others come in here. I'll be fine. Go." She nodded again and was gone, shutting the door carefully and quietly behind her.

Then, taking a deep breath, Dean turned very slowly to face his angel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, this is where the scary things really kick in. We've got dark!Cas, hurt!Dean, dub!con, all that jazz. Please, if this chapter weirds you out, stop now. It doesn't get better for a long while. (And I know I've said it like three times now so this is the last time I'm telling you this.)

**Chapter 3**

**"There is nothing left of you; I can see it in your eyes" ~ _Anthem of the Angels_ , Breaking Benjamin**

Castiel didn't move as he watched Dean send the girl away. A rush of satisfaction dampened his anger somewhat when Dean closed the door behind her. The power buzzed in his veins, filling him with the need to  _do_ something, but he wasn't sure what. So the angel settled for just watching his hunter, waiting for him to make the next move.

"Sit down," Dean said sharply, gesturing to the sofa and then crossing his arms over his chest. With any luck that wouldn't piss Cas off too, but luck didn't seem to be on his side today. He stalked towards the sofa then paced, heart racing. At least Clem was safe. Hopefully having her gone would make Cas a little bit more rational, a little bit less angry.

Castiel was glad that the girl had left, but part of him kept insisting that she was still out there. That perhaps she would still prove to be a temptation for Dean, and maybe Cas should take care of her now, just to be safe. Before he could act on that thought, he was distracted by Dean's order to sit, and he tilted his head curiously at the hunter. Dean's body language, which Cas had so painstakingly learned to read, was closed off and tight, full of fear and anger. Instead of sitting, Castiel flew to Dean once more, interrupting his pacing. "You are upset," he observed, displeasure in his voice. "What's wrong?" Power sparked in his eyes again, ready to be used in his hunter's defense. He reached up and put his hand against Dean's cheek, which felt cool to the touch. "I thought you would be happy that I'm no longer ill."

Could he not walk two steps over here? Was flying really necessary? "Yeah, I would be happy you're better if you actually  _were_ better, Cas," Dean said cautiously. He really wanted to hit Cas's hand away, but he thought that might be a bad idea. A spectacularly bad idea. Instead, he grabbed Cas's sleeve and led him to the couch, gently pushing him to sit. "I want you to listen to me for a second."

Castiel's first instinct was to resist being  _led_ like a dog anywhere, and he stiffened. But it was Dean, and so the angel allowed himself to be seated on the sofa. He had to tilt his head to look up at Dean, which he did not like, so he tugged the hunter down with him. "I  _am_ 'actually better', Dean." Castiel tried to keep his voice calm and soothing, but it was difficult when Dean was looking at him as though he were about to explode. His own anger was still there, woven into his Grace, and he felt it shifting restlessly beneath his skin. "I'm listening," Castiel finally said after taking a few deep breaths. Another light bulb shattered, but before Dean even reacted to the glass raining down on them, Castiel turned it to sand with a thought, blowing it away from them.

Dean's eyes flitted from what had been the light bulb back to Cas with unease. He swallowed, suddenly finding his throat very dry. He'd thought that maybe Cas still would respect him at least a little, but it seemed that he was merely placating him. In another situation, Dean would have been annoyed, but his annoyance and anger was quickly fading to pure fear. "Okay, Cas," he said, rapidly trying to organize his thoughts. "So, you know how I was having that nightmare? Do you remember what it was about?" Very hesitantly, he slid his hand into Cas's, lacing their fingers together. Doing so sent an apprehensive shiver down his spine, and he wondered if it had been a mistake, if it would be easier for Cas to tell how freaked out he was when they were holding hands.

Castiel watched as Dean shifted nervously, eyes taking in every inch of his hunter's face. When Dean took his hand the angel smiled, the contact soothing him slightly. Between Dean's proximity and the pulse of his Grace, he was finding it difficult to concentrate on the conversation, but the mention of a dream caught his attention. Yes, Dean had been having a nightmare recently. That was why he was here, Castiel remembered suddenly. He had come to be with Dean, to protect him. Protect him from... Castiel's thoughts were derailed as a jolt of magic shot through him. It was like throwing gasoline on the flames of his Grace, and the power flared too bright for him to contain. Castiel's fingers tightened convulsively around Dean's, and he only just managed to cover Dean's eyes with his free hand before he outshone his vessel in a sporadic flash of light and Grace that fractured the glass in the picture frames on the walls and decimated every remaining light in the room.

Dean could still see the light burning red through Cas's hand. His heart pounded and he started to sweat and hyperventilate because  _goddammit, dreams aren't real!_ But this was real and he squeezed his eyes shut, held onto the hand that he'd taken from Cas with all his might, nearly matching Cas's crushing grip, and wished that he could just let go. Grace shouldn't burst from angels like that. It wasn't right, it wasn't normal, and it was going to destroy Dean if he wasn't careful. But what could he really do? He couldn't just leave Cas like this; hell, the angel might not even let him go. There was a happy thought. What else? Grab some holy oil and cage him? A good idea, but there was no way Cas wouldn't notice him doing that. The truth was, Cas had the upper hand here. Dean just hoped he could find a way to snap Cas out of whatever this was before things got out of hand.

In the wake of Castiel's outburst came a wave of dizziness, along with a memory that was not his.  _Dean's screams as his eyes were scorched from their sockets, the beatific smile on Castiel's true face the last thing he saw._  "I— Dean, what's going on?" Castiel whispered. As if he had been pulled away from himself for a moment, he suddenly saw the taint on himself, the same sickly green that had tinged Dean's dreams. "I don't feel right. There's something—" He dropped back into the swirling ocean of Grace, and whatever he had seen was gone. The power wrapped hungrily around him, pure and sweet and needing to be used, and he dropped his hand from Dean's eyes.

As the light faded and Cas started to talk, Dean could tell that it really  _was_ Cas. His angel looked confused as he took his hand away from Dean's face, and had lost the stoniness around his eyes and in the set of his jaw.

"Cas? What is it?" Dean grabbed the front of Cas's shirt with his free hand. "Is that you?" But the momentary softness of Cas's face phased back into the hard look he'd been wearing, and Dean's breath caught in his throat. He loosed his hand from Cas's shirt and leaned away.

"What is what, Dean?" Castiel asked. He leaned forward as Dean leaned back, planting a kiss on the hunter's jaw. "And I told you before, it's always been me." Castiel wasn't sure what he needed more, an outlet for his power or Dean. Why not have both, he decided, crowding further into Dean's space and wrapping his free hand around the back of Dean's neck. He used some of his Grace to clean the sweat from Dean's brow, and another touch to vanish his shirts, leaving Dean clad only in his worn denim. The pants would go later. Dean's torso was tense, so tense, and Castiel diverted more of his Grace to working out the knots in Dean's shoulders. He wanted his hunter to relax.

Okay, this was  _not_  going in the direction Dean wanted. "Cas," he said through gritted teeth. "I  _liked_  that shirt." He paused because for some reason his body was relaxing despite his anxiety. His eyes met Cas's and Dean knew it was him. Dean's breath caught in his throat as a shiver started up his back and died unfinished.

"The shirt is not gone, Dean. Just on the bed. Perhaps we should join it." Castiel flew them both to the bedroom, dropping Dean on the mattress and landing over him. The lights in this room went quickly too, as did the whiskey bottle under the bed, but Castiel didn't notice. He continued to wrap Dean in his Grace, soothing him and caressing him. Dean was his hunter, and Castiel wanted him.

"Is this really the time for this?" Dean gasped as he fell back onto the covers, unsure where he was for a moment. His bedroom. Of course. Cas was still doing whatever freaky Grace thing he'd started in the other room, and Dean had to close his eyes for a moment as waves of reassurance swept over him. "Dammit, Cas." Dean had meant for the words to be forceful, but instead they sounded almost calm.

Leaning into Dean so he could press more kisses along the man's neck, Castiel growled softly, "Would you rather be elsewhere, Dean?"

"Actually, yeah. We're in the middle of a hunt, Cas. I'd like to be out hunting." There was no way this was going there. And holy crap, the freaking angel had to stop using his Grace on him because it was disorienting as hell. Cas blinked at Dean like he had no idea what he was saying, and Dean seized the moment to sit up, using one arm create some space between them, and pick up his shirt from the edge of the bed. Pulling an arm through a sleeve, Dean turned so that his feet were flat on the floor. But that meant his back was toward Cas and he couldn't gauge the angel's response. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he waited, pulling his other arm into the flannel and buttoning the shirt up. He shifted his shoulders into the soft fabric, wanting to stand up but slightly afraid to. There was also the question of whether or not his legs would support him if he did. Damn angel mojo.

Castiel frowned as Dean pushed him away and began to clothe himself again. He had promised to never again touch his hunter's mind, but perhaps the body could be convinced instead. Choosing not to remove Dean's shirt a second time, Castiel slid up behind his hunter and nuzzled his ear. "I don't believe you, Dean." He focused harder, Grace seeping under Dean's skin and through his muscles, relaxing him, letting him know how wonderful he could feel if he just  _lay back down_ with the angel. Castiel ran his hands under the edge of the shirt and up Dean's back, reveling in the smoothness of the skin, marked here and there by the silky lines of scar tissue. "We can hunt later. The witch can wait." His hands slid around to map the lines of Dean's stomach, and Castiel pressed himself against the hunter. Grace was a heavy, tempting cloud around them.

Dean sagged in the angel's arms and closed his eyes as the messages from his body drowned out his mind for a second. Imagining how good this could be if he just… What? Forgot that Cas was out-of-his-mind psychotic and trying to influence him with Grace? Because that was definitely a healthy way to have sex with his boyfriend for the first time. "Stop it," he growled, forcing himself to his feet even though Cas's hands still lingered on his hips. He couldn't keep himself upright, though, and his knees buckled, muscles too lax to hold him upright. Cas caught him easily, pulling him back against him. "Cas—"

Castiel kissed the side of Dean's neck. "Dean," he admonished, "why are you resisting so much?" He kissed his neck again, then loosened an arm from Dean's middle, clearly planning to lift the hunter back onto the bed.

"I said no, Cas." Dean pushed at the angel. He was so powerless right now; it was terrifying. "And put your Jedi sex aura away. It's making me sick." That would piss him off. Probably a bad idea. Dean wasn't sure he cared. Though he supposed he would care if psycho-Cas decided to force the issue. He gathered his strength and wrenched away from Cas, stumbling to the floor. Once the angel wasn't touching him anymore, the power of his Grace lessened, and Dean managed to get his feet back under him and head unsteadily towards the door.

Castiel's lust was shot through with rage as Dean rejected him  _again_. He flew from the bed to stand in the doorway, blocking the way with his physical body as well as his wings, which crackled into existence slightly as he spread them. "Do not walk away from me, Dean," he hissed, the color leaching from his eyes until they glowed white with power. "You are mine. I  _want_ you. And Grace or not I know you want me."

Dean backed up slowly, holding one hand in front of him and stabilizing himself with the other. "Cas, you need to calm down." He was very slowly getting muscle control back, but instead of feeling steadier, he found his body shaking again.

Castiel heard Dean, but he was not interested in listening. He began to advance, herding the hunter back towards the bed. Dean was confused, but Castiel was going to help him understand. After all, Dean did want this, Castiel could tell, but he wasn't letting himself have it.

Dammit. This was having absolutely no effect. Dean kept backing up, hyper-conscious of the fact that Cas was moving him towards the bed again, and scrambled for a plan. Weapons to use against angels in his bedroom? None. What was he supposed to do now, slice open his palm and draw a sigil on the wall in blood before Cas could jump him? Fat chance of that happening. He remembered Cas's momentary saneness right after he'd covered Dean's eyes to protect him from the Grace. What had given him pause? The dream.

Somehow Dean doubted talking about it would do anything now, but it was worth a try. Excellent plan. Open up to the deranged angel. But it wasn't like he could really make the situation any worse at this point in time. This was it. "Remember my dream, Cas? Remember how scared I was? I know you do, because you were there. I'm scared now, Cas. Look at me." He swallowed hard. He hated saying this. Hated the vulnerability, hated begging. But, at this point, what else was he going to do? "I thought you loved me, man. Do you? 'Cause something's not right with you, and part of you knows it. Think, Cas. Please. You gotta let me go." Dean could feel himself trembling, and it worried him. He was scared, yeah, but he shouldn't be like this. It was pathetic, really. Was Cas doing this to him too? Or was he just so damn scared of that nightmare that he couldn't control himself?

Castiel was gathering his Grace for another physical assault when his hunter's words made him hesitate. A flicker of unease ran through him, shaking his confidence. "I do love you, Dean," he said slowly, haltingly. The word felt strange on his tongue, brought back memories of the night before… had it been only the night before? The first time he had told Dean that he loved him in person. It had been different love then, not this feeling that drove him now, this blind lust and sense of ownership. Cas closed his eyes as another wave of dizziness swept over him and he experienced that strange out-of-body feeling again. He saw himself looming over Dean, literally glowing with power, and he saw how Dean was shaking with fear, although he tried so hard to hide it. It made Castiel sick to his stomach. He could feel the sickly tug of the Grace reaching for him, trying to drag him back under, but he couldn't let it. Not when he might hurt Dean. Or worse.

"Dean, go." His voice was small and uncertain. "Please."

"Thank you," Dean breathed. He walked swiftly past Cas without looking at him, head down, shoulders curled inward. The amount of time he had was… very small. And he knew it. He wanted to get the hell out of this apartment and hop in the Impala and then drive as far and as fast as he could in any direction. Canada, Michigan, North Carolina; it didn't matter where he ended up as long as he was away from here. Somewhere Cas couldn't find him, somewhere Cas wouldn't think to look. The marks on his ribs would keep him hidden, for a while at least, eating in lousy diners and falling asleep at rest stops. But Cas would find him, Cas always did. And he didn't trust him not to go find Clem or Sam or anyone else and destroy them.

So Dean didn't run. He went into the other room and knelt by the chest he kept in the corner, fumbling with the latches and digging through it until he found a bottle and a matchbook. His first few attempts at opening the bottle failed because his damn hands were shaking so much, and he cursed. From the other room came the soft sound of Cas moving and Dean jolted nervously just as he opened the bottle, nearly spilling half of its contents on his lap. Then he stood and sloughed it onto the floor in a messy circle, tossing the bottle into the trunk behind him. He knew Cas would come. He wouldn't be able to stay away for long enough.

Castiel's heart broke at Dean's whispered gratitude. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he tried desperately to fight it. He stood where he was, shivering slightly, staring past Dean as the hunter scurried around him and out of the room. His instincts were screaming at him to not let Dean get away, his Grace thrumming with the need to possess, to claim. But Castiel somehow managed to not give in, to let Dean get away. He remembered the effort it had taken to fly here, the way his last mangled shreds of Grace had pooled to carry him, and wondered what he had done to himself.

This new Grace was seductive, wrapping lovingly around him, singing to whatever an angel had that passed for a soul. He shuddered and staggered to one side, almost toppling onto the bed. It felt so natural, that he should have this power and use it. Use it for Dean, or  _on_ him if he continued to resist. For a moment Castiel remembered his promise, then pushed it aside. That was then, this was now. Dean needed Castiel's help to overcome this fear that seemed to have gripped him. It was for the hunter's own good. He heard a soft curse and a clatter from the living room, and Castiel smiled. Perhaps Dean was not as confused as he seemed. Buoyed by his sparking, swirling Grace, Castiel took flight, landing just in front of Dean. "You stayed," he murmured, face mere inches from Dean's. "I knew you would, my hunter."

Dean jumped when Cas appeared right in front of him, but regained his bearings. He'd been waiting for this, after all. In one practiced movement, he lit the match and dropped it onto the circle he'd drawn in holy oil. It caught immediately, and Dean turned to leap out of the circle and hopefully not light himself on fire too.

Almost as soon as he finished speaking Castiel caught the scent of the oil, but it was too late. The flames flickered into life around him, hemming him in, trapping him. Dean turned to jump out of the circle, but quick as a snake Castiel grabbed him by the arm, pulling Dean close against him. "Where do you think you're going, Dean?" The angel tucked his chin over Dean's shoulder and drew Dean's wrists behind his back, pinning him.  _How could Dean do this to me?_  he wondered vaguely, a sort of icy calm settling over him. His power may be restrained by the flames, but inside the circle he could do as he pleased. And what he pleased now was an apology. The weight of his Grace settled on Dean once more, and this time it was no gentle tease of the flesh. "Dean," Castiel breathed in his ear, ignoring the flames around them. "I want you to apologize to me. And I want you to mean it." Castiel brought his Grace down and  _demanded_  that his hunter acknowledge his dominance. "Tell me you're sorry and you will never do that again. _Now_."

Dean was no stranger to pain, both in giving it and receiving it. But this was something different. The world faded out around him. Not the way normal pain worked, when red flashed before his eyes and his focus narrowed to something between  _goddamn it_  and  _where is the thing so I can kill it_  and  _is Sam okay?_  or, in Hell,  _will this ever stop_  and  _you deserve this_ and then emptiness except for the pain. This was different. Everything around him just disappeared. The fire crackling around him made no sound, and the light from the open window didn't reach his eyes. Even the feel of his clothes on him and his sense of gravity were gone. There was just his body and Castiel and emptiness. This was not Hell. This was the torture of angels, the dominance and the power, and no human was meant to feel it. This pain was a power of will and it was crushing him, forcing the air from his lungs and pushing thumbs into his eyes and hitting his hands with hammers to destroy the delicate bones and rupturing his internal organs and folding him in on himself like a fetus in a womb. It was a pain that would make a man be born again, ears screaming at the lack of sound that pounded into his skull like cannons, eyes seeing nothing but flowers of color blooming in bursts of agony, skin aflame, curling up on the edges of his body and leaving behind nothing but ash. He forgot his own name.

There was something that this infant of pain and angels needed to do, and he could feel it in his core even as words lost their meaning to him. His God was before him and he was to worship. He was small. He was pitiful. Castiel was the universe. And he, a speck, had done wrong. "I'm sorry," he gasped.

The instant Dean spoke, Castiel let the force of his Grace dissipate. He cradled his precious hunter to his chest and spoke soothing words into his ear, feeling the way Dean trembled against him. "There now, Dean, that wasn't so hard was it? Shhh, you're fine, I'll keep you safe, don't worry. Nothing will ever hurt you again, Dean." As he spoke, Castiel laid one hand flat against Dean's chest and  _reached_  deep inside. When he came to the sigils and symbols carved on Dean's ribs he carefully teased them all out, keeping up a steady stream of comforting words as Dean twitched against him. Castiel took all of the marks and replaced them with just one, carved into the center of Dean's sternum, so all those who cared to look could see:  _Castiel_. "You're mine, Dean, and nothing is going to keep us apart," he whispered, inhaling the whiskey and gunpowder scent of his hunter.

The hunter named Dean clung to Castiel like he was an anchor that would keep him in harbor. The rhythm of the words comforted him. Here was safety. He trusted Castiel.

Why?

Castiel was good. Castiel would protect him. Castiel would keep him close.

A soft whimper he couldn't hold back escaped him, but he only held tighter to Castiel. He worshipped his collarbone and the side of his neck with his lips.

That was when a crack of sound came from behind him, from the door, he remembered, and he could see it kicked in, delicate splinters of wood fraying from where the lock had held it in place. And four figures, armed, ready, weapons leveled at him and his angel. He made eye contact with one of them, a slight dark haired girl. "Help me," he mouthed. He wasn't sure why.

"Shoot him," she ordered, but the others hesitated.

"Clem, he's not—"

She aimed, fired, and hit Castiel in the forehead.

Dean cried out wordlessly and clutched at Castiel, curling into him, terrified that he'd been injured. The sound of the gunshot still rang in his ears, frightening and loud, and he hid his head against the angel. This wasn't right. Clem wasn't supposed to shoot Castiel. She wasn't even supposed to be here.

Castiel's head snapped back as the round pierced his skull, but he hardly noticed. Dean was hiding against him, and Castiel quickly twisted away from the people in the doorway to shield his hunter from any stray bullets. He leveled a glare at the girl—the one who was trying to take his hunter—and wished he could immolate her. Or perhaps turn her into a pillar of salt. The child who should have kept running but turned back. . A trickle of blood dribbled down his face and onto Dean's, and drops of it hit the holy fire with wet little hisses that smelled of ozone. "Let me out of here, Dean," he hissed, shaking his head. The smashed bullet popped free of his already healing skull and clattered on the floor. "Release me so that I can punish them for their transgressions." Already his Grace was swirling behind his eyes, a deadly maelstrom of purest white.

Dean shuddered, afraid of the bullets and afraid to see what Cas would do, but he nodded against the angel, and Castiel loosed his arms from him. Dean walked to the front of circle and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. No one was firing anymore.

"The hell are you doing, Winchester?" Andy said.

"That guy's going to kill us, isn't he," a girl with dark hair and hazel eyes said. Jenny, that was her name, the hunter remembered. "And Dean's just going to  _help_ him kill us." She whirled on the girl named Clem. "You said you thought he was in trouble!"

Clem muttered something to her and the other girl's eyes narrowed.

"If you get us all killed…"

Dean ignored their words, marking them as unimportant and letting them glide past him. Castiel was the only one who mattered when he spoke, and he had spoken. Dean was to let him out. For some reason Dean's throat tightened at the thought of what Castiel was going to do to the kids.

The fourth one, male, porcelain skinned, delicate featured, walked two steps towards the burning circle on the floor. Keith. "Dean," he said softly, "Cas is going to kill us if you let him out. You don't want us to die, do you?"

Dean hesitated, then turned to look questioningly at Castiel. Dean wasn't really sure if he wanted the kids to die or not. He liked them, and he had always protected them, hadn't he? But if Castiel said they had to die…

Castiel was watching the young humans with his wide, white gaze. At Dean's hesitation, he turned to the hunter, head cocked to one side. "Dean? Are you going to listen to him? Over me?" His voice was soft, almost kind, but the air pressure in the room suddenly dropped a few notches. Castiel knew that his whole body was probably glowing now, and he made an effort to keep the light at non-lethal levels. He always wanted to be able to look in Dean's green eyes, to see the devotion staring back at him. Even if that made it more difficult to rid himself of these nuisances. "I'm waiting, Dean." A soft touch of Grace through Dean, the barest sweep of a feather over exposed skin. Castiel knew his hunter would do the right thing.

Shame shivered through Dean at Castiel's words. Of course he wasn't going to listen to the kids over him. How could he? And then, a wave of reassurance erased all of his doubt. He squatted to extinguish the flame with his shirt.

"Now!" Dean started at Clem's shout, but his surprise turned to alarm when Jenny and Andy ran up, grabbed him by the arms, and dragged him over the circle of flames. Heat bit at his skin, and he screamed, trying to pull out of their grip and retreat to Castiel's side. The guns were firing again and Dean's panicked struggles intensified. The thought that Castiel might be hurt terrified him. He needed to get free, protect the angel.

Castiel snarled in anger as more shots rang out. How dare these children raise their weapons against an angel? Not only were they shooting at him, he saw suddenly, but they were taking Dean. They had laid hands on his hunter and they were  _taking him_! Castiel's rage overflowed, sudden thunderheads forming in the midst of the overcast sky, and he tried to grab Dean, but he was too late. He made as if to lunge forward but the girl unloaded her gun into his face, and even an angel needs a few seconds to regrow his eyes. But Castiel didn't need his eyes to settle his Grace on Dean one more time. "Let me out, Dean!" he commanded. "Don't let them take you away from me. Fight them!" Then the hunter's feet slid across the barrier and his Grace was stripped back from the hunter like an old bandage. Castiel stepped back, snarling, as the jingle of bullets falling to the ground surrounded him.

"No!" Dean cried, but his body was too shaky from fear to adequately fight back against the two people dragging him from Castiel. His legs were on fire, he realized vaguely, but that wasn't nearly as important as his abduction from Castiel's side. Hands were on him, pinning him down and beating out the flames. Then someone folded Dean over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, teetering slightly as Dean struggled to get free. Then they were moving, away from the circle and away from Castiel.

Something in him relaxed with sudden relief, but the rest of him revolted, and he shouted Castiel's name, fingers outstretched and grasping towards the angel, as they carried him from the room and closed the door behind them. It felt like he was losing part of himself, having some piece of his soul ripped from him. He shouted until his voice broke and his body went limp despite the pain of his burns and the horror at being separated from Castiel. Then, Andy slid him to the ground, slung Dean's arm over his shoulder, and continued half-dragging him down the stairs. Keith slipped under his other arm and a moment later they were out of the building, Dean still craning his neck as if he could see Castiel standing behind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**"'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome. And I don't feel right when you're gone away" ~ _Broken_ , Seether**

Somehow Dean ended up in a car that wasn't his, leaving the Impala behind. He was in the backseat, Clem next to him and touching him on his arm and on his face and his shoulder and he couldn't figure out why. Then he realized that he was crying and she was trying to comfort him. He couldn't make out the words, but they kept talking to him and he kept looking out the window at the apartment complex they were leaving behind.

"You're gonna be okay, Dean. Come on, please. Talk to me."

He turned and looked at Clem, didn't really recognize her. She rubbed a tear from his cheek.

"We got you away from him; you're safe now."

He shook his head. There was no way for Dean to make them understand that he wasn't safe away from Castiel. When Dean was with him, Castiel would protect him, but now… Clem wrapped an arm around him and took his hand with her free one. He didn't close his fingers over hers.

"This is a freaking nightmare," Andy said from up front, swinging the car around a curve a little bit too forcefully. "Is he still blubbering instead of telling us how the hell to kill that thing? Or if it can find us?"

"Lay off, Andy," Keith said. He looked over his shoulder from the front seat. "How's he doing, Clem?"

Clem shook her head.

"Damn," Jenny said. "Maybe you should slap him or something. Snap him out of it."

Clem gave her a withering look and squeezed Dean's hand.

"Well what else are we supposed to do? Didn't you say he was all grouchy toward this guy before, telling him to back off? Why's he attached to him now?"

"Magic?" Keith suggested.

"I've never heard of a spell that does  _this_ to a person." Jenny waved a hand at Dean.

"Cas isn't a  _witch,_  he's an angel," Clem said. "And we don't know anything about angels at all."

At the mention of Castiel's name, Dean straightened slightly, trying to focus on the words.

"Yeah, what's that about?" Andy growled. "If Winchester knew there were killer angels out there, he should have told us."

"He didn't know this guy was a killer angel, Andy, he said he was his friend," Clem reminded him.

Andy snorted. "Yeah, more like boyfriend."

"Shut up, Andy."

"You're just pissed because it turns out that your burly hunter crush is gay for an angel. What is it with you and older men anyways, Clem? First Prof. Johnson, now Dean Winchester..."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Clem said, voice dangerously low, "and I wish you would cut it out. You've been this way ever since Sean died and—"

" Why?" Dean wasn't conscious of saying the word, but it came out in his voice and everyone in the car fell silent instantly. The grief at being parted from Castiel was a physical weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. "Why did you take me away?" His shaking intensified, and he couldn't look at anyone. He didn't want the kids to see him like this.

Clem was saying something to him again, touching his bare shoulder, his face, and he hated her because of her hands and the way they caressed. He was not hers. His body belonged to Castiel, along with his mind and soul. And he wanted to serve Castiel with all. He remembered the angel's hands on him, pinning him to the bed back in his apartment, and he couldn't remember why he had said no. Why he hadn't kissed Castiel with reverence and let him take all that he wanted. It would have been an honor.

And now he couldn't imagine why he felt sick to his stomach for thinking that, and he clung to the girl's hand.

The car stopped moving. Clem said something to Andy and he scowled before shedding his down jacket and passing it to her. Clem put it on Dean's lap and smiled at him, saying, "You're gonna be cold if you don't put this on. When we get up to Andy and Keith's we'll find you something else to wear, okay?" Her voice was light and animated as if she were talking to a toddler, but he put the coat on without saying a word. His hands were still shaking too much to zip it up, so she did that for him. They got out of the car and she stayed at his elbow as if he were about to fall. It had started to snow.

"So we're bringing a shirtless, shoeless thirty-something year old man wearing burned pants who looks like he's high out of his mind into a school sponsored apartment," Keith said dryly. "That makes total sense. No one will notice at all!"

Jenny hit him gently on the back of his head and they walked en masse into the building. They certainly attracted a few curious stares, but only one person stopped them: an Asian girl in gym clothes who was leaving her room. "Who's that?" she demanded.

"My cousin," Andy replied smoothly, and they passed by.

Upstairs, Keith unlocked the room he shared with Andy and they all entered, kicking off their shoes and leaving them in the corner.

Andy went off into the side room and came back with a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt with the school's logo on the front. "Put this stuff on and we'll wash your clothes." He pressed the shirt and pants into Dean's arms and paused as if considering whether or not to make a snarky comment. Instead, he patted Dean on the shoulder and looked away.

"Hang on," said Clem. "You're shaking like crazy. Let me unzip you." She unzipped the jacket, then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans too before stepping away. There was a pause.

"Congratulations, Clem, you finally got in his pants," Andy said.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Clem demanded. "Jesus Christ, is everything about sex to you? What did you want me to do, let him sit in there and struggle with the fricking button on his pants for ten minutes because he couldn't stop shaking? You are so immature, I can't even—"

Dean tuned out their hysteria and shuffled into the side room where Keith and Andy had bunked their beds and closed the door. Castiel would be angry with him for letting the girl do that, he realized sadly, but Dean would have to tell him anyways. And then Castiel might kill the girl even though she didn't mean any harm.

No. She had kidnapped him from Castiel. She took him away. She deserved Castiel's divine punishment.

Dean shivered and remembered how he had been punished for being bad. And he liked the girl even though she had stolen him and touched his shoulders like he belonged to her and unzipped his pants for him. He did not want her dead. But he wanted Castiel.

He dropped the clothing on the floor and folded his hands together, lips forming a prayer. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to let them take me. Please come get me. I need you." He waited, anxious, but there was no answer, and Castiel didn't appear.

What was he doing? Right. Changing. With a sad sigh, he took off the coat and placed it on a bed, then slowly worked the slightly charred pants from his hips, avoiding the burns as best he could. He pulled on the sweatpants and tee shirt before sitting on the floor. It shouldn't matter what the kids thought, Dean knew, but when he heard them whispering in the other room he flushed self-consciously all the same. Curling his fingers in front of himself, he observed the cuticles that needed to be pushed back, the scab from where he'd scraped his hand on a hunt a few days ago, the veins and tendons that stood out on the back of his hand. And then he thought of Castiel's hands. The wideness of his palms, the roses of wrinkles over his knuckles, the expressiveness of his fingers, the way they felt on his body. He shuddered and didn't know why.

Someone knocked on the door. "Dean? You doing all right?" Clem. She waited several seconds for Dean to respond, and when he didn't, she said, "Has enough time passed for it to be  _proper_  for me to go in yet, Andy?" She opened the door without waiting for a reply. "Dean?" She looked through the dim light and found him on the ground. She sighed, shut the door behind herself, and squatted in front of him. "Are you going to be okay?"

In the semidarkness, Dean could see concern written on her forehead and around her eyes. "What happened to you?" Her voice was very gentle and she put a hand on his knee.

He didn't move except to breathe, staring past her now.

"Okay," she said to herself and sat down and scooted on the floor so that she was sitting right next to Dean. She wrapped an arm around him and leaned her head on his shoulder. Very slowly, she began rubbing his back in gentle circles, then started to find the tight spots in his shoulders and then his lower back. With her free arm, she found his hand once more. He didn't respond to her touch. She took a breath. "Do you remember why I came to your apartment, Dean?" she asked, not looking for an answer. "It was because I had a nightmare. You said you were having nightmares too. Remember?" She rubbed his neck with her thumb, and Dean shivered slightly. He wasn't supposed to let her touch him. Especially not like this; she shouldn't be so close to him. "You gave me a hug because I was scared. Are you scared now, Dean?" Pause. Nothing. "Then Cas came out and—"

"Castiel."

"What?" She looked at him and stilled her hand. Dean wasn't sure why he had said that, and it took him a moment to respond.

"That wasn't Cas."

She took a breath, resumed rubbing his back. "Okay. Who is Cas, then?"

"Cas is…" He drew his knees up to his chest and began sobbing. Clem was talking to him, whispering soothing things to him, but he didn't hear. He squeezed his eyes tight and bit his lip as a wave of nausea rippled through him because he was being disloyal to Castiel and he didn't want to be. He belonged to Castiel, Castiel was an angel, Castiel was good, Castiel would keep him safe, Castiel would caress him, kiss him, make love to him, keep him out of the darkness, kill those who would keep them apart, care for him.

"Castiel will rescue me."

"Rescue you from what, Dean?" Clem asked. She was kneeling in front of him now and her hands were on his face. "Is something hurting you?"

He nodded, crushed his hands to his eyes. His body was shaking more than it had been before, and he wished he could just disappear, fade into nothingness.

Another pause, then, "How did you meet him?"

"He pulled me out of Hell."

Clem stiffened slightly then shifted her position and put both her arms around Dean, holding him tightly as if to keep him from rattling apart. "Wow, Dean, that's really something, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Did you like him right away?"

"I tried to kill him with a demon knife." He felt the sacrilege of it in his throat and wished to punish himself for such a transgression, however long ago it was.

"Oh." Pause. "So, Hell? Like, Hell hell, or..." It was a tentative question, and when she asked, she petted his hair gently.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Dean paused, shut his eyes. He couldn't remember. "I was bad," he said at last, but that didn't seem right. It was a reason to go to Hell, but it wasn't  _his_  reason. "No," he said before Clem could speak again.

"What is it?"

"My brother," he said slowly, drawing out the syllables as if he wasn't sure what he was saying was truth. "I went to save him." He didn't know from what.

"You have a brother?"

"Sam," he said, and he could see him, he could see Sammy, his little brother like a giant next to him, floppy long hair and puppy dog eyes. He could see him as a baby, soft and warm and gentle, he could see him smiling and laughing as a child, he could see him with spilt milk in front of him on the table, running after some stranger's dog in a park, tucked into bed at night by Dean. And he could see Sam going off to college, going on hunts with him, pouring over some old book, putting his dislocated shoulder back in place, asking all those chick-flic touchy-feely questions that Dean couldn't remember why he hated, drinking beers with him, and, more recently, saying goodbye to hunting and him and heading back to school. Dean pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and he wished that it would all stop because  _god_ , it hurt. He loved his brother. He was not supposed to love anyone but Castiel.

"Dean." Clem was shaking his arm gently. "Come on, you gotta answer my questions. Does your brother hunt?"

"No," said Dean.

Clem stopped shaking his arm, body sagging.

"He used to."

Her shoulders went back and her face brightened. She smiled at him. "I want to call him, Dean. Doesn't that sound nice? You can talk to your brother."

His stomach clenched and he grabbed her arm as hard as he could with his grip so compromised by shaking. "No."

She faltered. "Why?"

"Do not call Sam." The conviction was tight in his chest. Sam must not know.

"Tell me why, Dean." No answer. "I have to know why you don't want me to call."

"He got out." He didn't know what that meant, but the words felt right on his tongue. "I can't bring him back. He got out."

Clem kissed his cheek. "You sweet thing," she said. He didn't know why she thought he was sweet, and he didn't like her kiss on him. Castiel would be angry. Dean wanted to rub it off, but now she was holding both of his hands. "Trust me, your brother would want to help you right now. I'm gonna call him. Where's your phone?"

Clem couldn't do that. Dean shook his head desperately. "You can't do that, please, please, don't do that to him."

"It's okay, Dean." Clem got up and reached for Dean's discarded pants, sticking her hand in the pocket and withdrawing his phone. Dean lunged for it, but Clem was too fast for him. She hit a button on the phone and it illuminated her face with a bluish glow. Dean stood too, limbs barely cooperating.

"Don't call him, please don't call him, he isn't gonna hunt anymore, don't make him hunt, he got out, don't make him come back for me, it's my fault, I don't want him to come back, I don't want him to hunt, I—" He kept reaching for the phone, but she took one of his hands in hers and he stilled for a moment at her touch while she found what she was looking for and hit a button. He heard it start dialing and started to cry again.

Sam would take him away from Castiel. No, that wasn't why he was crying. Sam would hurt Castiel. No. Sam would…

Clem squeezed his hand when someone picked up on the other end. Dean's heart stopped. "Hello? This is a friend of Dean's. Are you Sam?"

Sam jumped when he heard his phone start to ring from across the room, "Back in Black" roaring tinnily from the speaker. Dean calling, then. He checked his watch as he disentangled himself from the piles of papers and textbooks spread around him on the floor. Sure, he had a desk, but the floor was much bigger. Easier to work on. It was seven thirty, and he frowned. Strange time for Dean to call, especially on a Thursday. Sam would never ask, and Dean would never tell, but Sam knew better than to call on Thursdays because that was when new episodes of Dr. Sexy ran. So it was with confusion, and the faintest hint of unease, that Sam answered. "Hey, Dean. What's up?"

He frowned when a girl—college age by the sound of it—replied. A friend of Dean's, huh? "Yeah, this is Sam. Who's calling?" He couldn't come up with a logical reason for someone else to be calling him on Dean's phone that didn't involve injury, and his heart sped up nervously. "Did something happen to Dean?"

When Dean heard the voice at the other end of the phone, he didn't recognize it at first and he relaxed because thank god, someone else had picked up and now Clem couldn't tell Sam and make him hunt again. But then he felt sick because that  _was_  his brother's voice and he had forgotten. He clung to Clem as she walked from the bedroom into where all the others were situated, Jenny and Andy in desk chairs, Keith cross-legged on the floor. "Hang up, please, don't talk to him—" His voice was soft and desperate, but Clem talked over him.

"My name's Clem." She sounded uncertain. "My friends and I have been on a couple of hunts with your brother and—"

The voice was faint in the background, but Sam knew it better than any other. It was Dean, only—he sounded strange. Young. And he was begging,  _begging_  the girl to hang up the phone. Every instinct Sam had kicked into overdrive. Something was very wrong. The girl introduced herself as Clem and started a hesitant explanation, but Sam overrode her. "Dean? That was Dean. Why isn't he on the phone?" Sam's voice went low and dangerous. "I swear if you've done anything to hurt him I will hunt you down. Now tell me what happened." As he spoke he was throwing open the closet, rummaging in the back. His fingers met worn canvas and he drew out an old duffle that clanked as he tossed it on the bed. Dean didn't know he had kept it, because Sam had to let his brother think that Sam was free of hunting forever. But Sam was no idiot, and he knew these things had a way of catching up to them. He unzipped the bag and began layering fresh clothing into the top of it, covering up the riot of weaponry and questionable items already packed into the bottom. Sam used one hand the whole time, keeping the phone clenched in the other, desperate for answers.

"It wasn't me! And I was just telling you what happened!" She looked around at the others as she spoke, dark eyes wide.

"Please hang up, please…" Dean wanted to take the phone from her, hang it up, but Andy stood and grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him away and sitting him down on the chair.

"You be quiet," he said severely. "You're upsetting him."

Dean shut his mouth, put his head in his hands. A heavy hand patted him on the shoulder, but he didn't look up.

"Listen, we're in trouble. Do you know a guy named Castiel?"

Sam's frown deepened, and he paused in his frantic packing. "Cas? Yeah, but what does he have to do with it? He was down here last time I checked." His heart stuttered as a new possibility occurred to him. "Did- is Cas hurt?" It might explain the pain he could hear in Dean's voice, at least in part.

"Cas? No, he's not." A pause. "He's your friend, right?"

Sam was getting more concerned by the minute. "Yeah, he is. Tell me what happened, Clem." Sam wished he could just reach through the phone and shake the girl until she gave him a real answer.

"I don't really know what happened," she said very slowly, turning to look at Dean when she spoke. "But from what I can gather, Castiel… isn't himself. He did something to Dean and me and my friends had to get Dean away from him. The thing is, we know he's going to find us eventually, and the only thing we know about fighting against him is that he can be trapped in a ring of fire or something. And we need—"

"Wait, hang on. What do you mean, Cas 'isn't himself?' What did he do to Dean? You had to use holy oil on him?" Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Shit, how did he even get there?" he muttered, more to himself than Clem, before speaking firmly into the phone again. "Clem, I need you to put my brother on the phone."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"What the hell do you mean, you don't think that's a good idea?" Sam cried angrily. "I know he's there, so why can't I talk to him?" He didn't have any idea who these people were, and he needed to hear from Dean's own lips that there was a problem. Even though it was pretty obvious that something was wrong. "Put Dean on or I swear to god I'm hanging up," he warned.

"You can't do that, Sam! We're in serious trouble, and we need to know some way that we can protect ourselves."

Sam wanted to scream in frustration. "Protect yourselves from what? What the hell is going on up there? What's wrong with Dean and why does Cas have anything to do with it?"

"What do I say?" Clem said softly to the others. She glanced at Dean again and bit her lip.

"Give the phone to me," Andy said, walking over to her.

"Are you gonna be a jerk?" Clem asked, covering the phone with her hand so Sam wouldn't hear.

"Just give it!"

She reluctantly handed the phone over.

Andy paced as he talked. "Listen up, bud, your brother's a pile of mush because something that Castiel asshole did to him. And that thing's going to  _come here_ and  _kill us_  if you don't start dishing out information. Understand?"

Clem snatched the phone back, hissing, "You don't just tell someone their brother's a pile of mush!" Perhaps she noticed Dean's eyes on her because she turned to him, freezing as she saw the way he was looking at them all. "Dean, it's okay," she said, stepping over to him and putting a hand on his face. "Don't worry, you're fine, okay?"

He didn't say anything in reply, just ducked his head down so that her hand slipped off him.

Sam heard a whispered exchange, the shuffle of the phone changing hands, and then a new voice spoke, a man whose cocky tone did very little to hide the fear underneath. A man whose words knocked the wind out of Sam. He stumbled to sit on the bed as he heard Clem say something harsh, the sounds of a scuffle, and then her voice talking soothingly, as if to a scared child. Only she was talking to Dean. Sam shook his head, even though he knew she couldn't see it, and kept shaking it as he finally managed to stutter, "No, that's—there has to be a mistake, Cas wouldn't hurt Dean, ever. He'd die first." He barely registered what he was saying, because it was so ridiculous. Cas loved Dean, and he would never hurt him. And his Grace was gone, Dean had told him so, which meant there was not much Cas could do to hurt Dean anyway besides good old-fashioned human things. And Cas killing people? Sam took a deep breath, then another. "Please, just put Dean on the phone," he asked again, trying not to sound like his world was crumbling at the edges. "If I talk to him, maybe I can figure out what happened to him."

"He's asking for Dean again," Clem whispered. She was frozen in front of Dean, looking down at the floor rather than him.

"Just let the poor man talk to his brother," Jenny said at last.

She bit her lip, nodded, looked Dean in the eye. "You want to talk to Sam?"

He shook his head. "I told you not to call," he said.

Clem paused, then said into the phone, "I don't know if he'll talk to you, but I'm giving him the phone." She tried to hand the phone to him but he didn't take it, so she stood next to him and held it to his ear, head tilted to better look at the ceiling.

Sam heard Dean's voice, words muffled by the pounding of his own heart, the shift of fabric and then—nothing. Just slightly erratic breathing from the other end. "Dean?" he asked hesitantly, suddenly very afraid. "Dean, it's Sam. What are they talking about, what happened to Cas?"

"Sam." The name was soft on his lips, comforting, and he could feel the weight of the million other times he'd said it before. "Sammy." Castiel wouldn't want him to talk to Sam, he knew it in his bones, and his mouth stuttered shut. In an effort of will, though, he took a breath, tried to reign in the sobs that had restarted since he'd heard his brother's voice right in his ear, and said, "He isn't Cas anymore."

Sam shivered as Dean spoke, the sense of wrong so strong that he almost wanted to hang up just to get away from it. Dean's voice was small, strange, broken even. As he spoke he started to sob in great shuddering gasps, and Sam felt icy dread clamp down on his spine. Dean Winchester might cry when he was pushed past his limits, but not like this. This was an expulsion of confusion and pain and fear that Sam had never heard from anyone, much less his big brother. "What does that mean, Dean?" he asked, trying to sound as normal as he could. "Did Cas hurt you?"

"He isn't Cas, Sam," Dean repeated because Sam didn't understand. And Dean didn't know what his brother meant by 'hurt.'

Sam's heart felt like it was falling to pieces. He cradled the phone to his ear, wondering what he could do, how he could help. He would get in the car as soon as they hung up the phone, of course, but that would still leave them alone for hours. Hours when whatever this was might come after them.

"I don't know what that means, Dean," Sam answered finally. What else could he say? "But Dean, do you remember the sigils we learned? The ones for keeping out angels? Do you think you could show Clem and her friends how to draw those?"

"He isn't Cas," Dean insisted. Clem moved as if to take away the phone, but he gripped it with his hand. He thought about the marks he could now remember painting with Sam, but the way they looked kept swirling whenever he tried to concentrate. "I don't remember, they won't stay still." He sobbed. "Sam, don't come here, please, you can't come here, I don't want you to, you have to go to—" He stuttered as he tried to remember what was so important for Sam to do. "You have to go to school and I don't want you to come and..."

Dean trailed off as Clem gently tugged the phone out of his hand. "Slow down, Dean. It's okay." She held the phone to her ear. "Sorry, Sam," she said.

Sam couldn't answer for a few seconds. Had Cas really done something to Dean? How? And why? Sam knew he needed to get up there, but he also knew that if it was Cas, those kids wouldn't last the night without angelproofing. Finally he spoke. "Okay, Clem, listen. I'm going to text Dean's phone some pictures. They're standard angel-proofing sigils. You need to get chalk or spray paint and put them on every window and wall, okay? I'm going to drive up as fast as I can, but that will still be hours. Don't leave the house, and don't let Dean do anything. It's gonna be fine, Clem." Sam thought of how many times he'd made that promise in the past, and how many times it had been a lie, and shivered again. "What's your address?"

"Sam," she said slowly. "We're in a dorm room. On a college campus. How are we supposed to put sigils on everything?"

Sam took a deep breath, rubbing his free hand over his face. They were in a public place, literally surrounded by innocent bystanders on all sides. And if what Clem said was true, they were basically sitting ducks for an angry angel. "Okay, Clem, I need you to listen to me," he said as calmly as he could, slinging his duffle over his shoulder. He exited the room swiftly, leaving his books forgotten on the floor. "If you seriously think that Cas is going to hurt you, those are the only thing that can stop him unless you have more holy oil to trap him in. So your choices are stay there and put the sigils up or get somewhere with no people. If you can, you have to go somewhere isolated. I don't know what kind of attack you're expecting, but you shouldn't be in a building full of civilians. Is there anywhere you can go? Some pay by the hour motel, a warehouse, anywhere?" Sam just remembered to lock his room behind himself as he fled the building. He attracted a few curious stares, but none of his friends stopped him to ask where he was going.

"Don't motels have people nearby too? No, wait, I just remembered. The school's outing club has a cabin we can crash at. I think Jenny has a key to it." She exchanged a look with her friend and Jenny nodded. "Yeah, we can go there." She paused and took a breath. "Listen, Sam, thank you for coming."

Dean stood up. "He's not coming."

Everyone looked at him.

"Give me the phone."

"Dean wants you," Clem said hesitantly, then handed the phone to him.

"Dammit, Sam, you're not coming." These words felt good to say, natural, and Dean's trembling stilled.

Sam's heart lifted. He sounded better, sounded like Dean. "Dean, man, you're not firing on all cylinders," he said as gently as he could. "Those kids need someone there to help them, and you. I'm not just leaving you up there. I'm gonna come up, and I'm gonna figure out what happened to Cas and what happened to you, and then we're gonna fix it. This is not an argument we're having."

"I told you no, dammit! If you come up here, I'll go back to Castiel. I want to anyways," Dean said savagely because everyone seemed to want to keep him away from Castiel and he thought that saying he wanted to go back might hurt them, even though it was the truth. He missed Castiel, painfully, deep in his core, like a piece of him had been ripped out when they had been parted, like a shard of glass was lodged in his abdomen, like he couldn't breathe.

Sam froze, standing outside his car with his keys in hand. Go back to Cas? After the angel had apparently threatened to kill those kids? And he had said Castiel. Dean hadn't used the angel's full name in years. Even then Sam had never heard him use in that tone. Dean had shouted it in anger, whispered it sadly, but he had never spoken it with that kind of awestruck longing. It didn't fit Dean, and it didn't fit Cas, and it only reinforced how badly messed up the whole thing was. Finally he forced himself to talk. "Dean, why can't I come up? And why would you go to Cas? Didn't he hurt you?"

"You have to go to school, Sammy, you're not supposed to hunt," Dean said. "You got out. So don't come here, please. I'll figure this out." Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "I should go back." He heard Sam inhale sharply, and he quickly spoke again. "Sam, they took me away from him. I wanna go back, I belong to Castiel, Sam. I need him." He felt sure that his brother would understand when he stated it this clearly.

Nausea rolled in Sam's stomach and for a second he thought he might actually vomit right there in the parking lot.  _Belong_? The thought of what Cas must have done to Dean to make him like this started a terrible rage simmering in Sam's chest. There was no excuse Cas could give Sam for this, none. But Sam had other things to worry about right now. "Dean, it's fine, I'll come back down when this is over. I can miss a few days; it's almost the weekend," he soothed. "But you can't go back to Cas right now, okay? It's not good for you. Just stay with Clem and the others okay? For me, Dean?"

"I told you he isn't Cas!" Sam didn't understand at all, and it made Dean sad. He forced himself to slow down his thoughts about missing Castiel and focus more on Sam. Sam was worried. "I'm making you upset," he said slowly, half-questioningly. He looked down at his feet and curled his toes self-consciously. "I don't want you upset," he stuttered. "I will stay with them. For you. But Sam, you shouldn't come, I don't want you to. I don't want you to see me. God." He sat back down on the chair and clenched his free fist. "You won't like what you see, Sam, and then you'll look at me like I barely exist. You'll be angry. And if you kill Castiel I will never forgive you."

"I—shit, Dean, I'm not gonna kill him!" Sam was almost overwhelmed with relief as Dean agreed to stay, but he knew they weren't out of the woods yet. "And I'm not gonna be angry with you, Dean, and I won't look at you like you barely exist, I promise. It's gonna be okay." He took a deep breath, then another. Hoped he wasn't lying through his teeth. "Can you put Clem back on?"

"Why?" Sam wouldn't kill Castiel. The relief warmed him and Dean relaxed his hand. He examined Clem, who was still watching him, but didn't hand the phone over.

"Because I want to make sure she knows that we're not gonna hurt Cas, okay?"

"Oh." Dean smiled slightly, but it felt uncomfortable on his face so he stopped almost immediately. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." He wasn't sure what he was thanking him for, but he handed the phone to Clem.

Sam sighed silently in relief. Dean seemed like he would hold on, for now. He heard the phone being passed. "Clem? I need the address of the cabin you're going to, and then you need to leave for it now. I have no idea how long the holy fire is going to hold Cas."

As Clem rattled off an address, the others began getting things together. Jenny left, taking Clem's key with her to get some things from both of the girls' rooms. Andy grumbled incoherently and dragged out a bulky duffel bag and started putting stuff in it. Keith came over and tried to figure out if his shoes would fit Dean, so he ended up wearing a pair of Andy's hiking boots that were actually too big for him. Keith had actually tied them for Dean, pulling the laces extra tight to keep his foot in place despite the poor fit. When Jenny came back, they all piled into Andy's car and headed to the cabin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**"Well I'm a runnin' down the road tryin' to loosen my load, got a world of trouble on my mind." ~ _Take It Easy_ , Jackson Browne**

Sam was glad he had actually slept the night before, because he didn't stop once between Connecticut and Maine. The needle of the speedometer barely dipped below eighty the whole way, and Sam was grateful that the roads virtually empty once he was north of Boston. After hours of single-minded navigation, Sam finally started to turn the facts over in his mind, weighing his options.

The fact was, Cas had somehow gone wrong and, despite his promise to Dean, Sam wasn't sure if he would be able to save him. Not if Cas really did try to kill those poor kids. Sam had to be prepared. When he got close to where Dean and the others were, he took an early exit and ignored the GPS warning him that it was "recalculating." He wasn't sure this was a good idea, but from what he'd gathered, Dean had been forced to leave the Impala behind, which meant that he was woefully underprepared to face any sort of threat. And Sam only had so much on his bag.

Sam found himself holding his breath as he pulled into the apartment complex. There was no reason Cas would have stayed if he had escaped, and no way he could hurt Sam if he hadn't but… the ex-hunter swallowed nervously. The parking lot was deserted except for the Impala, sitting forlornly in front of Dean's apartment. Sam parked his car and got out, staring up at the windows with wide eyes. He briefly considered going inside, seeing if Cas was there, trying to get the story from him. But Dean's voice ran through his mind again, the broken awe that filled it, and Sam suddenly knew he wouldn't be able to face whatever Cas had become. Not without taking care of his brother first. Sam turned his attention to Dean's car.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he whispered, grabbing his duffle from the backseat of his car and pulling out the long, thin piece of metal sewn into the seam. It took a few seconds, seconds of imagining the flutter of wings behind him, but he got the door open eventually. Quickly, Sam tossed his bag into the back seat and sat up front, getting out his knife and leaning to rip open the steering wheel housing. He flinched as he cut and stripped the appropriate wires. Dean was going to kill him.

At the last moment, he went around and picked the trunk as well, propping it up on a shotgun like so many times before. Sam pawed through the mess for a few seconds before he found what he was looking for, wedged in the back, forgotten and unneeded. Until now. He hesitantly withdrew the angel blade, which shone untarnished in the streetlamps. With a horrible sense of foreboding he closed the trunk and took the sword with him, slipping it down beside the gear shift as he backed the impala out of the spot and pulled away. It was just in case, he reassured himself. Just in case.

It was only a few minutes later that Sam finally arrived at the cabin Clem had directed him to. He could immediately see that they had been busy, as the light shining through the windows was partially obscured by the thick swirls of red paint crossing the glass. He parked the Impala, grabbed his things, and made his way to the door. At the last minute, he shoved the angel blade deep into his bag. Dean didn't need to know he had it; it would only upset him. Sam stood in front of the door and took a deep, steadying breath. Dean was probably still shaken up, and no matter what Sam had to be there for him. That meant not letting himself freak out if Cas had done anything permanent to his brother. Once he was sure he could handle whatever was coming, Sam knocked gently on the door. "Clem? It's Sam. Can I come in?"

Dean had been dozing on the couch, lulled by the warmth of a fire Andy and Jenny had made, when the knock sounded, and he woke up to his brother's voice. He stiffened and Clem rubbed his arm gently. Keith was nearest to the door, so he got up to answer it.

"Sam Winchester," he said as he unbolted it and opened it. "I'm Keith." He peered out past Sam as if expecting to see the angel there. "Come in. Quickly."

Now that Sam was here, Dean couldn't decide if he desperately wanted to see him or wanted to hide. Somewhere along the line he had settled into a relative calm, but the uncertainty made him shaky again.

"Hi, Keith," Sam said, trying to smile reassuringly. He was pretty sure it came out as more of a grimace. "Listen, I've got this bag; can you just go back to the trunk and grab the leather satchel back there? It's got more angel stuff in it." At least, Sam hoped it had more angel stuff in it. If Dean hadn't gotten rid of it all or let it waste away. Keith nodded and brushed past him, and Sam stepped through the door. He looked around, noting with approval the neatness of the paint lines, the clarity of the marks. It was pretty good for a bunch of newbies. Then his eyes settled on the couch, on the figure lying there next to a slim, dark-haired girl that he assumed was Clem. Licking his lips nervously, Sam set down his bag and took a few steps closer. "Hey, Dean." His voice wavered slightly, and he cleared his throat. "How're you doing?"

Dean held his breath for a moment, stared at his brother. It took him a minute to let Sam's features fall back into familiarity, but when they did Dean stood immediately and walked over to him, hugging him. Against his efforts to hold back his tears, he began to sob again and he pressed his face to Sam's shoulder. His hands tightened into loose fists at the back of Sam's shirt, rumpling the fabric.

All Sam could do was hug Dean back, as tight as he could. Over his brother's head he saw Clem smile slightly, the tiniest quirk of her lips, before she stood. Keith walked back in but she gestured to him to just leave the bag by Sam's other one, and the two of them quickly excused themselves from the room. Sam just stayed where he was, keeping hold of Dean as his brother continued to cry and pushing down his mounting dread. Eventually he tugged Dean back over to the sofa, settling Dean on it and seating himself sideways so that he was facing his brother, mirroring his cross-legged position. Gently detaching himself from Dean's arms, Sam sat back a little and looked at his brother, who sat there in someone else's clothing with slightly dazed, red-rimmed eyes. For a moment he wished he could just keep hugging Dean, comforting him and making him feel safe, but that wasn't going to help anyone. "Dean," he said softly, resting a hand cautiously on Dean's shoulder and locking eyes with him. "I'm going to help, okay? But first you have to tell me what happened to you."

Dean shook his head and glanced over at Sam's hand on his arm. Everyone kept touching him and he didn't know why. He didn't mind, though, because it brought him some comfort. He stiffened. Dean did mind because they were not supposed to touch him, not without Castiel's permission for them to do so. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath so as to not push Sam away.

Sam felt Dean's reaction to his touch, and it disturbed him. He took his hand off Dean, hoping to calm him down. Dean was acting like an entirely different person, one Sam didn't know and couldn't read. "Dean, listen, I'm just gonna talk you back through what happened, all right? So Clem and Keith and everyone brought you here." He waited for a sign that Dean heard him and then continued. "Before this you were in Clem's room. And before that you were with Cas. What were you doing with Cas, can you tell me?"

"I did something bad," Dean said softly, his hands starting to shake. "I shouldn't have done it, Sam. I couldn't have been thinking; I don't know how Castiel could forgive me like he did. If I hadn't done it I would still be with him now and he wouldn't be stuck somewhere all alone without me and I'm terrible, Sam. I can hardly stand myself, and I wish that I could take it back but I can't." He didn't look at his brother, just hung his head.

Sam put all his effort into keeping his face open, his voice calm. Despite Dean's jumpiness he reached out and put his hand under Dean's jaw, tilting his head back and forcing him to look at him. "Hey, Dean, it's all right, you're all right. Can you tell me what you did? I promise I won't be angry."

"I tricked him, Sam. I knew he would follow me so I made a ring with the oil and waited for him to come. Shouldn't have done that." He didn't want to look at Sam but Sam's hand was still under his jaw, so he couldn't turn away. His eyes skittered to the side, though, looking at the flames in the fireplace, and he wondered how it would feel to burn alive. "I apologized to him, but I can't stop thinking about him stuck there because of me and I didn't even have a reason for doing it, Sam."

Sam swallowed hard, trying to process what Dean was telling him without letting any of it show on his face. From this it sounded as though Dean had been trying to defend himself right up until Cas became trapped in the holy fire, and then... then the angel had done something. Sam still had no idea what, or how. Cautiously, he asked, "But I thought Cas was losing power, running out of Grace. You're making it sound like he's back to full strength."

"He flew here because of me and he was so sick, Sam, and it was my fault. He was worried about me. I shouldn't have made him worried." Dean played with the hem on the right pant of the sweatpants. "And he passed out and when he woke up he was still sick, but I made him sleep more. When he woke up again he was better." Dean smiled beatifically, eyes bright and raised to the ceiling. Then his expression fell and he hugged himself. "But I trapped him, Sam, I trapped him even though he wasn't sick anymore. Castiel wanted me and I didn't let him have me, Sam. How could I do that to him?" He squeezed his eyes shut and wished Sam would stop looking at him, stop asking him questions. A headache was growing under his forehead.

Sam dropped Dean's chin and sat back, mind whirling. The way Dean was now, Sam knew he wouldn't intentionally lie to him, but he also had to take his brother's words with a massive pinch of what-the-hell-did-Cas-do-to-you salt. Still, he could safely assume that when Dean said Cas "got better" it marked the beginning of this strange sort of power trip. But that still didn't explain how Cas had gotten to Maine in the first place. As for what Dean had said about not letting Cas have him… Sam couldn't deal with the shame in his brother's voice, so he decided it was best to leave that for later. "All right Dean, almost done, just a few more questions," Sam said encouragingly, watching his brother's face scrunch up childishly in pain. "Why do you say Cas flew here because of you? And why are you calling him Castiel now, why isn't he Cas?" Sam reached out to pat Dean's shoulder, then froze and dropped his hand back into his lap. "Just answer those for me and I'll let you get back to sleep, okay buddy?"

"Don't call me that," Dean snapped. "I'm not a child." He rubbed his forehead hard and whimpered, not wanting to talk to Sam anymore. "And I'm not going to sleep. I want to go back to Castiel."

Sam groaned internally. It seemed like his luck with getting Dean to talk was running out, but he pressed Dean for information anyway. Just a little more. "You want to go back to Castiel? Not Cas?"

Dean blinked at his brother, wondering how he could be so dense. "I told you he's not Cas anymore, Sam."

"What does that mean, Dean? Who is he if he isn't Cas?"

Dean turned his body away from Sam to face the fire. "I don't know who Cas is. He's just Castiel." For some reason that made him very sad and he chewed nervously on his thumbnail. He should remember. He wanted very badly to remember who Cas was other than the fact that Castiel had been him and Castiel and Cas looked the same, but felt different.

Sam watched Dean bite nervously at his finger and sighed, giving up on getting any more information out of him at the moment. He stood slowly, keeping an eye on Dean as he moved over to the room Clem and Keith had entered, then knocked on the door. "Hey guys, could you come out here for a minute?" Hopefully between what the kids knew and what Dean had told him, Sam could get some sort of an idea what was happening. Part of him wanted to have the rest of this conversation away from his brother, but the rest of him knew that there was a very real chance of Dean just making a break for it the moment he was out of their sight. And Sam wasn't going to let that happen.

"Sure," Jenny said and they got up from where they'd been sitting on the edges of the bed talking in hushed voices. "I'm Jenny," she added as she passed.

"Andy."

"Clem." She paused. "How is he?"

Sam sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, turning slightly to look at Dean, who was still staring blankly into the fire. "Honestly? I have no idea. We might not be able to fix him until we figure out what the hell is wrong with Cas. But for now at least we just keep an eye on him. And I need you guys to tell me the rest of the story, as much as you can. Dean's version is... skewed."

Dean was gone. Castiel stared at the door, listening to the sound of the students dragging him down the stairs and out the door. They had Dean, and Castiel could do nothing. His helpless rage grew, and as he listened to the crunch of tires on gravel he screamed again in frustration, shattering the glass in the windows. In an effort to control himself and stop his true form from bursting through the confines of his vessel, Castiel closed his eyes and began to meditate. While shedding this form may be one way to escape the flames, finding another would take time, and he needed to find Dean now.

_I'm sorry_. The sound of Dean's prayer in his head, apologizing, begging for him, was maddening. Castiel could practically feel Dean's faith in him waning as the seconds passed and the angel didn't appear by his side. Those who had taken Dean would pay dearly once Castiel escaped. He took deep breaths, focusing only on controlling the Grace, taming it, and the rest of the world melted away. Castiel didn't know how long he had been standing there, deep in meditation, but finally he opened his eyes once more. The light was long gone from the sky outside, and a chill wind was blowing through the empty window frames, making the holy fire bow towards Castiel in false worship.

Mindful of the damage it could cause, Castiel inched away. The circle was not very large, and he could only go so far before the flames on the far side menaced. Something had to be done, but his options were limited. Castiel scanned the room carefully, and his eyes fixed on the sprinkler heads poking out of the ceiling. They would be sufficient, but… another glance found Dean's shirt, lying just outside the edge of the flames. Perfect.

Concentrating hard, Castiel pushed against the holy fire with his Grace, careful not to physically touch it. The flames flared and expanded, chewing hungrily away at the power he fed them. The edge of the discarded cloth began to smoke, and Castiel pushed harder, ignoring the drain as the fire stole his Grace. It would come back. Finally, a tiny flame flickered at the edge of the shirt. Castiel relaxed, pulling the Grace he had left back into himself as he watched the fire take root, sending an ever-thickening plume of smoke towards the ceiling. Any moment now… There was a click and the keen of a fire alarm starting up, and, with a sputter, dirty brown water began to rain down on the angel and his prison.

"I'm coming, Dean," Castiel murmured, wishing his hunter could hear him. He watched, waiting as patiently as he could for the flames to flicker and die. He felt it the moment they did; the spell restraining him broke, and Castiel immediately flew to the roof of the building, banishing the dirty water from himself with a thought. Free now, and without the confines of the circle, he was able to let his Grace expand, searching for what the angel wanted the most right now.

Dean. Just thinking the name sent a shiver of longing over the angel's skin, a memory of Dean's soft mouth caressing his collarbone, the feel of his hunter pressing against him, needing him. And those four children had taken him away. Castiel's fury, already close to the surface, began to stir, and he spread his wings wide, reaching for Dean's soul, that one bright spark in the world that bore Castiel's name carved into his very being. With a push of his wings, Castiel flew, leaving the ruined apartment and its wailing fire alarm behind.

When he reached the place where Dean was being held captive, Castiel expected some sort of token struggle, more gunfire perhaps, as a feeble attempt to stop him from reclaiming his hunter, but as he tried to land he was met with fierce resistance, as though he had hit an invisible wall, and he found himself being forced off course. He landed heavily, sending a shockwave rippling through his surroundings. When he looked towards Dean's soul, he was met with the sight of a cabin, warded so thoroughly in Enochian that even he could not enter. And the worst of it was he could feel Dean just inside, although the light Castiel had placed within him had faded slightly in Castiel's absence.

The angel growled low in his throat, Grace arcing around his head in crackles of lightning. "Dean," he called, standing just outside the range of the spells. He sent his voice out on a wave of power that swept through the protections like water around a boulder. "Dean, I am here for you." He felt it when Dean responded, knew the instant his hunter realized Castiel had come back for him, and felt a hot curl of satisfaction. Castiel may still be trapped outside, but Dean was ready this time. Four students would be no match for him.

Castiel's power struck Dean like lightning and he sat up straight. The angel's touch warmed him from his core and he flushed with pleasure because Castiel came back for him despite his trespasses. Despite his weaknesses. And it was amazing how the fear trickled out of him, how when he trembled it was from pleasure instead of the pain of parting. He would not keep Castiel waiting. Dean stood immediately, legs stronger than they'd felt for hours, and sprinted towards the door just as he heard his brother shout his name. The man who was his brother did not matter now, though, and neither did the kids, because Castiel was back.

Someone solid tackled him from the side and he hit the floor hard, tangled up wrestling with the other person until managed to pin them down. The man who was his brother. "Bit rusty, aren't you," he said, then pushed away from him. But there was the girl with the questions who wouldn't stop touching him standing by the door, her friends all around. He hesitated one second, then ran straight at the door.

Sam's skin crawled as  _something_ swept over him, leaving every hair standing on end as it passed. He whirled to look for Dean but his brother was already on his feet, racing for the door. Shit. Sam dove at him, tackling him and bringing him down, but Dean had always been better at wrestling and he had Sam pinned in a moment. Sam's heart stopped when Dean taunted him. It was wrong, so wrong, that Dean acted more like himself only when that thing was near. Because now that Sam had felt the touch of Castiel's Grace he finally knew why Dean had been correcting him all night. That was definitely  _not_ Cas out there, but Sam didn't know what the hell it could be. His thoughts were derailed as Dean pushed off him and sprinted for the door. He scrambled to his feet, suddenly afraid of what Dean would do in his madness. If he let Dean hurt one of those kids when he was like this, his brother would never forgive himself when this was all over. Jenny was ready for him though, and the college student held her own against Dean long enough for Sam to get behind him. Wrapping one arm around Dean's neck from behind, Sam twisted one of his arms up behind his back and physically hauled his brother away from the door. "Come on, man, don't do this," he gasped in Dean's ear as the smaller man struggled wildly. "Snap out of it, Dean. This isn't you, this is some angel mojo Cas whammied you with. Fight it off!"

"Let me go," Dean cried, grasping backwards at his brother. He grabbed a handful of his ridiculously long hair and yanked hard, but his brother hung on. He lashed out, then, catching the fair boy in the nose as he tried to grab Dean's free arm. The kids were all over him now, helping his brother, and he wrenched at his trapped arm to give himself a better vantage, but he couldn't free it. He tried to think rationally about the best way to get out of this situation, but the pull to get to Castiel was too strong for strategy and instead he thrashed, kicking out with his feet and screaming Castiel's name as if the angel would be able to come in and help him.

Castiel could hear the sounds of the struggle from within, and Dean's cries for him stoked his rage to fever pitch. Stalking to a window, he snarled when he saw them pinning his hunter to the ground, too many for Dean to fight. But his hunter was doing an admirable job. Then the tall man with shaggy hair threw back his head and stared straight through the window at Castiel, and the angel's gaze narrowed. Sam was here. The angel rumbled ominously. Sam was a real threat to him, someone who could potentially come between Castiel and Dean. This would require different tactics. It also explained how the children had been able to set up protections in the first place—he had made sure that Dean would no longer have the capacity to do so. He sent another wave of possessiveness to Dean, reminding the hunter that he was Castiel's, forever, body and soul. Then the angel stepped away from the window, backing into the woods. He could wait, and they weren't going anywhere.

As they all struggled to pin Dean down, Sam felt a chill on the back of his neck and glanced up, straight into a pair of white eyes. His first thought was that it was a demon on top of everything else, but then he saw the rest of the face and the truth struck him harder than Dean's fists. Castiel's face. The angel's eyes were full of Grace and power that drowned his usual blue, and when he met Sam's gaze he bared his teeth in a snarl. The sight chilled Sam to the bone, and he almost lost Dean's arm as his brother continued to fight against the restraining press of bodies. Finally Dean was forced into immobility, and when Sam raised his eyes to the window again, Castiel was gone. Sam looked down into his brother's face, into Dean's wide, angry eyes that shone with twisted adoration, and he wondered what the hell they had gotten themselves into.

"Let me go. Goddamn it, let me go!" But there were five of them and one of Dean and there was nothing he could do anymore. He stopped struggling and wept. "You don't understand. I need him. You can't keep me here, please, please." He inhaled sharply and the air entering his lungs hurt. The sense of need was deep in his stomach, permeating out through his limbs in shivers. How to reason with them? "I have to go now. I know you don't want me to, but I have to. I can't be here without him. It's killing me, please. You're hurting me. I know you don't mean to, but you don't understand. Please let me go. I need to be with Castiel."

"Dean, look at me." Sam grabbed his brother roughly by the chin and forced him to make eye contact. "I don't know what Cas did to you, but this isn't right. You have to know that somehow, some part of you has to remember. That out there? That isn't Cas! It's not our friend and it's not—" Sam faltered, then finished softly, "It's not the man you love."

Sam's words filled Dean with a cold rage. His brother had no right to look at him like this, to blaspheme against Castiel, to suggest that Dean should be anything other than devoted to Castiel. He spat in his brother's face. "You have no idea what you're saying," he said, voice low and full of venom.

Sam jerked back as Dean spit at him, heart sinking. Whatever the angel had done to Dean, he had done it good. But Sam had to keep trying. Giving his brother to the creature that Cas had become was like letting him climb into the lion's den at this point. So Sam wiped Dean's saliva off his cheek and kept talking. "Before, when we were talking, you kept correcting me when I called him Cas. You said it wasn't Cas. Well, where is Cas, Dean? Where did our friend go when that thing replaced him?"

"Cas is gone," Dean said sadly, but he had no reason to be sad. He had something better now. "I don't need Cas," he said firmly now, brow furrowed in concentration. "I belong to Castiel. This is what should be."

Sam heard the sorrow in Dean's voice when he said Cas's name and latched onto it. "No, Dean, it isn't. You should be with Cas. Remember Cas? Gentle, a little confused every now and again, not great with people? But never demanding. Never possessive. And he wouldn't ever have tampered with your mind like this. That's the Cas you should be trying to find, Dean!"

"I miss him," Dean whispered before he realized what he was saying. His reaction when he did notice was sudden and harsh; he jerked his neck so that Sam's hand dropped from his face and bashed his head hard on the floor. "No!" he yelled. "Cas is gone and it is good. Castiel is here and it is good. I  _will_  be with him."

"Shit, Dean!" Sam grabbed his brother's head with both hands, slipping one underneath to cushion against further blows while the other rested on his cheek. "Calm down, you're gonna hurt yourself!" He glanced helplessly around the room. There was no way he was going to just talk Dean out of this, not with Cas so close by. He didn't want to, but he had no choice. Who knew what Dean would do when he was like this? "Hold him," he commanded, then stood and strode across the room. He returned with four sets of handcuffs and a chair which he found in one of the other rooms. This was going to be a bitch.

The moment Dean saw what Sam had in mind, he renewed his struggles. Dean almost managed to escape from them all, but Andy drew back his fist and punched him hard in the side of the head. Dean collapsed, eyes rolling back in his head, and Andy sat back looking vaguely satisfied under all the fear and exhaustion. Clem stared at him for a minute, then punched him in the arm. "Jesus, Clem!" he yelped, massaging the spot. "The hell was that for?"

"You didn't have to knock him out, you jerk! What if you gave him a concussion?" Clem sounded furious, and she looked up at Sam for support. The hunter was standing over his prone brother, a troubled expression on his face. Sam hadn't missed the self-satisfied smirk on Andy's face when he had hit Dean, and his dislike of the man deepened.

"Andy," he said ominously. The student stood defiantly, glaring at Sam despite the extra six inches the older man had on him. His defiant glare might have been impressive to someone else, but Sam had taken worse from both angels and demons and it didn't faze him. Instead, he leveled his own dark gaze at Andy. "I'm only going to tell you this once. You ever hit Dean like that again, and Cas will be the least of your worries. Do you understand me?"

Sam didn't blink, didn't move, just let Andy look him in the eyes and read what he found there. In a few seconds the young man dropped his gaze and muttered an apology. Sam nodded once in satisfaction, then turned his attention to Dean. Clem looked like she was going to lay into Andy again, but Sam stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Don't, Clem. Honestly, it makes things a bit easier for me, but…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "Come on, let's just get him in the chair before he wakes up. Dean's never stayed down for long."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so we don't write porn but this is as close as we get. Not very explicit, but i figured a fair warning was in order.

**Chapter 6  
** **"And even when I dream of you, the sweetest dream would never do. I still miss you, baby, and I don't wanna miss a thing." ~** ** _Don't Wanna Miss a Thing_ ** **, Aerosmith**

When Dean blinked himself awake, the first thing he noticed was that Castiel was not there. Next the pounding in his head, next the fact that he was cuffed to a chair. "Dammit," he hissed, moving his arms and legs slightly to test his mobility. Someone knew what they were doing. Well, now that he thought about it, it could only be his brother. Dean slumped his shoulders and sighed deeply.

"He's awake," said a female voice. Dean was having trouble with names and it frustrated him because he  _should_  know who these people are, he s _hould_ be able to think about this girl as something other than "the girl who was fighting with me earlier".

Sam hurried back into the main room when he heard Jenny calling. Sure enough, Dean was awake, but he seemed relatively stable. Apart from his fanatical level of devotion to the monster in the woods, of course. Sam walked up to him and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket. When Dean leaned away, he explained, "Calm down, Dean, I'm just checking you for a concussion. Andy probably hit you a little harder than he had to, and the last thing we need right now is a trip to the hospital. So just hold still, all right?" He flicked the light from eye to eye a few times and then stepped back, satisfied. "Well that's something," he muttered. Next to him, Jenny tried and failed to stifle an enormous yawn, and Sam shot her a look before checking his watch. "I really don't think we're going to get anywhere else tonight, so you kids might as well go to bed, Jenny." The girl's eyes wavered nervously between Dean and the front door, but Sam anticipated her concern. "I'll stay in here on the sofa tonight." With a hesitant nod, Jenny left the brothers alone.

Sam sank onto the sofa with a sigh, cradling his head in his hands. This was all so messed up, and he had no idea how to fix it. Finally, he told himself that sleeping was probably the best course of action right now. He wished they could let Dean lie down and sleep properly, but they couldn't risk it. "Okay, here's how this is gonna go tonight, Dean," he said finally, daring to meet his brother's eyes. "I'm gonna sleep here. You get cold, call me and I'll bring a blanket. Hungry, I'll feed you, have to piss, I'll walk you to the bathroom. But we can't let you go running off."

"You're just gonna leave me like this?" Dean whispered. "I thought you were supposed to be my brother." Apparently not. Not that Dean could think much of what constituted brotherhood other than the fact that brothers don't leave each other cuffed to chairs all night.

Sam's heart clenched. Dean just sounded so... so normal. It was so easy to pretend that less than an hour ago he hadn't been pinned to the floor raving like a madman. Sam knelt in front of Dean, putting his hands over Dean's on the arms of the chair. "I  _am_ your brother, Dean," Sam whispered, searching his brother's gaze futilely for some sign of the old Dean. "That's why I'm trying to help you. Cas isn't good for you right now. I know you think he is, but he's not. He's hurting you and I'm not gonna let him."

Dean bowed his head. There was no way he could really make his brother understand how much he needed Castiel. Every time he tried, he wouldn't listen; he just freaked out and told Dean that he was wrong. And now he was using the fact that they were brothers to justify his actions. Dean shifted uncomfortably. They  _were_  brothers, of course, but... Dean couldn't look at him because he knew he was about to upset him. He turned his wrists, took the man's hands in his, and squeezed them lightly. "I'm sorry," he said slowly. "But I—" He paused. "I shouldn't say this to you, so I'm really sorry. But I can't remember your name." His brother's face froze. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Castiel had been calling him, and nothing else had mattered. Only now that Castiel had left him again, it felt somehow wrong not to remember.

Sam was having trouble getting air into his lungs. Dean couldn't remember his name? Dean was the only person alive who'd known Sam since he was born. He had practically raised him, given him that stupid nickname that only he was allowed to use. And now he— Sam stood, tearing his hands away from Dean, and whirled to stare blindly into the corner. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, but he was not going to cry. Dean didn't need a sniffling wreck of a brother, he needed an anchor, someone to hold him down when Cas's influence tried to sweep him away. So Sam stood and blinked furiously at the dark corner of the room until he was sure the tears wouldn't fall.

"Sam." he said quietly. "My name is Sam, but you usually call me Sammy 'cause you know it bugs me."

"Are you mad at me?" Dean wanted his brother to come back over to him. He took more comfort out of his presence than he should. And he didn't like him standing with his back toward him, unreachable to Dean, shoulders tight and strained.

"No!" Sam said quickly, turning back to Dean. "No, Dean, I'm not angry with you. Just... I want you to try to remember my name, okay?" Slowly, Sam made his way back to the sofa and sank onto it, feeling emotionally drained by the entire day. "If Cas comes back, I want you to remember that I'm Sam, I'm your little brother. Do you think you can do that?" His voice only trembled a little, and he hoped Dean didn't notice.

Dean's eyes followed his brother. He shouldn't have said anything, he should have just waited until someone said Sam's name, he should have tried harder to remember. "I'll try," he said very softly because he knew that trying wasn't good enough, that his brother's voice shouldn't shake like that when he spoke. He hesitated, bit his lip, clenched his fists. "I love you, Sam." His brother looked at him. "I know I probably don't say that to you ever. But I do. I love you, Sam, even though I'm not supposed to."

"I love you too, Dean." Sam wanted to say more, wanted to tell Dean that he was supposed to, that it was okay to love other people, but… Dean was doing better. It was a small step, but Sam didn't want to jeopardize it. Instead he took one of Dean's hands and squeezed it reassuringly. "Try to get some sleep, Dean, okay? You need anything right now?"

Dean shook his head. A lie. He needed Castiel, but Sam didn't want to hear that. He clung to his brother's hand, though, because he was vaguely aware that he'd been getting nightmares the past several times he'd fallen asleep. "Don't let go," he whispered to Sam, because he didn't think he could deal with being alone, even if he was only separated from his brother by space and unconsciousness.

Sam hesitated, but nodded. "Okay. Hang on, just let me—" He pulled away from Dean just long enough to throw more wood on the fire and drag the sofa closer to Dean's chair. Then he lay out on the sofa, legs curled in to fit his height, and gently took his brother's hand again. "I'm right here, Dean, okay?" Dean's grip was so tight, so terrified, that Sam sat up again. Taking Dean's hand in both of his, he started to massage it, fingers rubbing at the muscles until Dean relaxed fractionally. Keeping his eyes on their hands, Sam started to hum, then sing softly under his breath. "Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song, and make it better…"

The song was soothing, familiar, and Dean closed his eyes. If he focused on Sam's hesitant voice, the crackling of the fire in the hearth, the sound of his own breathing, he might be able to sleep. And he did, eventually, though Sam assumed him to be asleep long before then and relaxed his grip on Dean, voice falling silent. When Dean fell asleep, he dropped Sam's hand and drifted into his repeating nightmare, recalling all the terror he'd felt at that version of Castiel before, feeling it seep again into his bones. He wanted to cry himself awake, to scream, and he wasn't sure if he was actually doing it, but he didn't wake up even when the dream ended. The fight in his mind between his brother and Castiel faded into nothingness. Not the terrifying darkness he'd found himself lost in only a moment before; this was more complete, and less frightening because there was no unknown. He could not get lost in nothingness because there was nothing to get lost in. And so he was suspended there, dream-self still trying to shake off the tendrils of the nightmare that had snaked around him.

 

Castiel waited. He was anxious, restless, changing the forest around him by his very presence. Bushes bloomed and withered, rocks burst and let forth streams of pure water, only to dry up and crumble to dust. Most of it was unintentional, a side effect of Castiel's wildly out of control Grace. But the angel did wait. He stood, half in the world and half in the space of dreams, waiting for his hunter to fall asleep. The others may be able to trap Dean in body, but his mind was still free to roam. And Castiel intended to meet him when it did.

The instant Dean fell asleep he began to dream, a vivid, colorful dream that was more real than a human should be able to create. Castiel, though he desperately wanted to contact Dean, found himself flitting along the edges, observing all and changing nothing. He saw the fear he inspired, the death he caused to take Dean with him, and was pleased. He allowed the dream to play through, watching with a passive interest as it ended in a riot of screams and blood. Idly he wondered if he would ever have the chance to recreate those events in the waking world.

When it finished and Dean was on the verge of consciousness, he made his move, drawing the hunter back from the edge of waking. Before making Dean aware of his presence, Castiel studied him, frowning. The glow of adoration was fading, far faster than it should have even from their separation. It could only be Sam. The angel's wrath smoldered hotter, and he decided that the dream angel's treatment of Sam had been far too lenient. The man was causing Dean to doubt, to blaspheme, and Castiel would not allow it.

"Dean," he said softly, calling his hunter's attention to him. "Dean, I am here."

Castiel. The nothingness took shape and suddenly there was gravity again, Dean's feet firmly on the ground. Castiel was before him, and Dean fell to his knees, his dream body humming with fear and awe and anticipation. Castiel was not a dream, he was stepping into the fabric of Dean's mind. He was the only real thing there, and he shone with a solidity that nothing else in this world had. The nightmare still lurked around Dean, but he tried his best to banish it, despite the fact that it seemed as real as Castiel was. The nightmare was fake.

But Castiel, he was solid and he was perfect and he was here. Dean shivered in fear but did not want to run away as he had before when he had this nightmare. How could he, when Castiel was his center? All parts of him were tied to Castiel, and so it was only natural that his fears would be defined through Castiel just as his pleasures were.

Castiel could sense the fear running through Dean in his presence, and he decided it was good. It was right that Dean fear him. But Dean should also love him. Reaching out, Castiel ran a hand through Dean's hair, the soft brown locks sliding between his fingers. He made a mental note to grow Dean's hair out when this was all over; it would look good on the man. Now he just petted Dean's head like he was a favored pet, stepping closer to allow the man to lean against him. For a few moments, he stayed like that, letting Dean relax in his presence, letting him feel safe. Then he spoke.

"I called you earlier, Dean. I wanted you to come out to me, and you didn't." His soft fingers turned to claws, raking across Dean's scalp. "You disobeyed me."

Dean cried out softly when the angel's gentle touch turned sharp on his head and he pressed his face against Castiel's leg. "I tried to come, Castiel. I wanted to be with you. But Sam, he made all those other people take hold of me and hurt me and stop me from coming to you. And now they have me chained up and I can't get out." He should have done better. Should have tried harder. Anxiety tightened his chest and shame burned in his throat. Castiel should punish him.

"Sam," Castiel hissed. If Dean's brother had not been there, it would have been simple to recover Dean from his kidnappers. He would already be by Castiel's side once more. "You belong to me, Dean. Never forget that." The angel moved his hand from Dean's head to his shirt, taking a fistful and using it to guide the hunter to his feet. Castiel's hands slipped under the shirt, pulling it off, then ran up Dean's chest and scraped down his back, nails leaving angry red lines. He claimed Dean's mouth in a fierce kiss. When he broke off the kiss his eyes were glowing white again with power and lust. "Tell me who owns you, Dean. Tell me who you exist for." The words were harsh, an order.

"I exist for you, Castiel," Dean replied, green eyes bright and fixed on Castiel's face. "I am yours, forever and always. Completely." He wanted Castiel to kiss him again, and he licked his lips then left them slightly parted, soft and guileless. He wanted Castiel's touch, whatever type Castiel chose, and he wanted Castiel happy. As happy as Dean was to have Castiel back.

Castiel tilted his head to claim Dean's mouth again, reveling in the feel of his lips, in the way his body molded to Castiel's so willingly. This was as it should be, his hunter worshiping him with mind and body together. Even if it was just a dream. Castiel turned his head away from Dean's and bit him roughly at the base of the neck, sucking until a purplish bruise rose to mar the skin. His hands were all over Dean, caressing the skin, exciting the nerves, mapping the landscape of his favored possession. When he had Dean trembling in his arms, the angel stopped everything, dropping Dean and stepping back, admiring the view. "You are mine," he repeated. "And what of Sam?"

Dean was still gasping when Castiel drew away and for a moment he couldn't figure out what he did wrong or what Castiel was saying. "Who?" he asked, then remembered. "No, Castiel, he doesn't matter, he's nothing. All I need is you."

Castiel's smile was terrible and beautiful all at once, and he stepped forward to claim his hunter once more.

 

Sam woke suddenly and lay in the dark for a minute, trying to orient himself. He was on an unfamiliar sofa in a room he didn't recognize. The moon was shining in through the windows and painting reverse images of protective sigils on the floor. The past day caught up with him at the same time that the noise that had woken him sounded again.

It was a gasping sob, and Sam was instantly upright and at his brother's side, cursing while he waited for his eyes to adjust. His hands found Dean's and Sam cursed again when his fingers came away wet and sticky. Dean had been tugging at the handcuffs so hard that the metal had cut into his wrists. Why the hell hadn't Sam thought to put padding on those? Sam raised a hand to Dean's face and felt tears on his cheeks. "Dean?"

Dean whimpered then and whispered, "Castiel." Sam froze, eyes darting wildly around the room, but there was nothing but shadows and moonlight. His eyes returned to Dean, who he realized was still asleep, at the same time that his brother gave a little cry. "Yes, Castiel."

It only took Sam a second to realize that Castiel had found a way around the wards after all. He started shaking Dean's shoulder, calling his name as loudly as he dared without waking up the others. "Dean! Wake up man, you're dreaming. He's in your head!"

 

Castiel had Dean naked on the ground when something shattered the stillness around them.  _...in your head!_ The angel froze over his hunter, eyes wide and angry. It seemed that Sam was determined to interfere no matter where Castiel went, even inside Dean's head. Beneath him Dean squirmed, panting, eyes wide and slightly unfocused.

"Castiel?" he gasped. "Did I do something wrong?" The hunter tried to scramble out from under him but the angel sat up and pinned his shoulders.

" _No_." Castiel's voice was loud in the emptiness, Grace dripping from his lips as he spoke. The word answered Dean, but it also pushed the waking world back, dragging them further into unconsciousness. Castiel would let nothing interrupt them. Dean flinched beneath him, and Castiel quickly bent to place soothing kisses down his bare chest. "Not you, Dean. You are perfect, you are good. I want you now."

Dean moaned and writhed under Castiel, skin blistering at the touch of Castiel's burning Grace against his flesh. It  _was_ good and it  _was_ perfect, and Dean forgot everything else in his need for more contact between their bodies.

Sam didn't start to panic until the third time he shook Dean. At that point it was clear that his brother wasn't going to wake up without serious help. Dean's hips shifted in the chair as he made a soft noise of pleasure, and Sam dreaded what Castiel was doing to keep Dean under. Steeling himself, Sam slapped his brother hard across the face, snapping his head to one side. "Wake up, Dean!" He pleaded, not bothering to keep his voice quiet.

 

The world around them fractured for an instant, jagged red cracks spreading through the comforting blankness. Sam's voice again, nagging, insistent, demanding that Dean wake up. Castiel snarled. He was the only being that had the right to make demands of Dean. The angel rubbed himself along Dean, delighting in the friction the motion caused, but Dean had stopped responding beneath him. When Castiel looked into his eyes, he could see faint confusion in them.

"What—"

"Nothing," Castiel growled. "Keep going, Dean." Instantly, unquestioningly, the hunter returned to his ministrations, nimble fingers running up and down Castiel's body. The angel worked his way down the side of Dean's neck, sucking and biting and marking his hunter as much as he could. Dean groaned under his attentions, head flopping back to expose the other side of his pale throat for Castiel's inspection. The angel hummed his approval, licking from the hollow of Dean's collarbone down to one nipple. One hand trailed down Dean's stomach and stroked him briefly before moving lower.

Dean responded immediately, shifting his legs to give the angel better access. "Please, please," his hunter whined, and Castiel smiled.

"Patience," he rumbled, working slicked fingers into the hunter's body to create space for himself. No need to hurt him. When Dean's body was ready, he finally pushed inside, listening intently to the initial hitch in Dean's breathing, and then the soft moans as Castiel moved inside of him. "Mine," the angel growled, and the hunter breathed an answer.

"Yours."

Sam would not take Dean away. Castiel was going to have his hunter for as long as he wanted.

 

The lights flicked on, and Sam turned to see Clem standing in the doorway, the other three peering around her. "What's happening?" she asked cautiously.

"Dean won't wake up," Sam answered shortly, mind racing. He was running out of options, and he couldn't bear to leave Dean in there any longer. "Dammit." His eyes fell on the dying embers of the fire, and he sucked in a breath. He really didn't want to do this... Dean moaned wordlessly, a downright embarrassing sound, and when Sam looked back at him he could see fresh tears on his cheeks. "Dammit," Sam repeated, and grabbed the tongs lying on the hearth.

"Sam, what the hell—?" Clem yelled, but the hunter already had one of the larger coals gripped tightly in the pincers, swinging it out of the fireplace.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he muttered, then brought the glowing red cinder down on the back of Dean's hand.

 

New pain, not the sear of Grace as Castiel moved over him and in him, broke Dean's endless loop of  _happyyesCastielperfectmore_. He convulsed, eyes flying open. The world around him suddenly seemed paper thin, as though Dean could reach up and punch a hole in the ceiling, and he shuddered from pleasure. His hand was burning, but the flesh was untouched.

"Dean." The hunter returned his attention to Castiel, who was staring at him with wide white eyes that made the world clearer around him again, bright and impossibly detailed. Castiel was beautiful. Dean kissed the skin he could reach, breath elevated, heart beating in muted thumps. This was where he belonged; surrounded and filled by Castiel, his god, his everything.

Another bolt of pain radiated up his arm, and Dean gasped. With effort, he raised one arm, grasping for something above him, just out of reach. Something important. That was when Castiel clasped his hand around Dean's shoulder, right over the handprint scar he still bore, and Dean started. "You're not Cas." The words spilled out of him without permission. Dean's mouth tasted like blood, but his fingers trailed up and down Castiel's back. "What did you do with Cas?" He cupped a hand around Castiel's cheek and wanted to kiss him or hurt him, but suddenly the world was thinning again and he tore through it, falling away from Castiel, headfirst into the abyss.

He screamed himself awake.

Castiel felt Dean slipping away from him and clutched him tighter, one hand creeping up to the brand he had given him years ago. But that seemed only to agitate his hunter, and Dean's accusing words cut through his lust. He stared down at Dean in bewilderment, confusion making him vulnerable for a split second.

"What do you mean?" he asked, but his hunter was slipping away from him, being dragged back into wakefulness. "I am Cas!" Castiel screamed after Dean, but he was already gone. The angel was left alone in limbo, surrounded by an emptiness devoid of the dreams of humans. He tried to summon the righteous anger of earlier but could only find fragmented memories swirling through his Grace. Memories of a time before Castiel owned Dean, a time when the hunter laughed and screamed and cried without Castiel's approval. The thoughts were too much, clashing with Castiel's instincts that told him how it was better this way. Abandoning rational thought, the angel fled on a tide of Grace that numbed his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

 

  
**Chapter 7  
** **"Don't look at me like another lost soul" ~ _Mistletoe,_ Jukebox the Ghost**

Dean's hand was burning, the flesh blistering, but the pain was nothing next to the fact that Castiel was gone now, and his absence settled heavily back into Dean's bones. His shoulder ached too, deep under the tissue, a pain that was more than physical, and he couldn't think of why it should feel that way. His screams quieted to a whimper as he opened his eyes and saw Sam, but Dean could feel tears wet on his cheeks that he didn't remember crying. Blood slicked around his wrists and stuck the metal handcuffs to his skin. He was achingly hard, and his body's arousal made him feel sick.

He missed Castiel.

"I got away," he heard himself say, but his voice was a whisper.

When Dean's eyes flew open, Sam tossed the coal, tongs and all, back into the fireplace. "Can one of you get me ice? And I have a first aid kit in my bag," he called over his shoulder to the kids. He also grabbed the blanket he had abandoned on the sofa and wrapped it around Dean as well as he could. It might comfort Dean, true, but it would also hide his pretty obvious erection. Sam didn't want Dean to suffer any more humiliation. Dean's whispered admission made him freeze, staring down at Dean with wide eyes. The hope that had been fading when he failed to wake Dean struggled back to life. Dean hadn't said he's been taken away; he had gotten away, which implied at least a small amount of will on his part.

"Sam?" Dean said. "I remember your name, see?" He laughed, but the sound was high and weak, almost like crying.

"That's good, Dean!" Sam's smile was tight and nervous at the unhealthy hint of hysteria in Dean's voice, but his brother didn't seem to notice.

Clem came over and handed the first aid kit to Sam, keeping level eyes on Dean the whole time. "Do you need any help?" she asked.

Shifting his attention, Sam gratefully accepted the kit from Clem with a shake of his head. "No, I think we'll be okay. I'm sorry I woke you all. You can go back to sleep if you want." Sam popped open the kit, fingers flying over the supplies in a familiar routine as he took bandages, burn cream, and antiseptic and laid them in his lap. He took Dean's left hand in his, the one with the burn, and started to wipe the wound clean. Dean trembled a little at the touch but didn't make a sound. Sam desperately wanted to talk to Dean, ask him what happened in his mind with Cas and how Dean had gotten free, but the others were still in the room. Sam didn't think Dean would want other people to be around when they discuss this, so he kept quiet for now.

The burn was bad, and Dean couldn't help but shift as Sam cleaned it. He wouldn't look at it because the blisters reminded him of Castiel's Grace searing his skin in his dream, and he wasn't sure if that had felt good or bad. His hand felt bad, though. And something indefinable that put a pain in his shoulder and an ache in his chest like a heart attack.

Clem looked like she wanted to say something to Dean, but decided against it. The four students filed out and Sam watched them go, still gently taking care of Dean's wounds. When the door shut behind them, he turned back to his brother. Dean didn't look like he was in any condition to explain… but then again he hadn't been in any condition to do much of anything since Sam had gotten there. Swallowing his nervousness and schooling his face into a serene expression, Sam asked, "Can you tell me what Cas was doing in your head, Dean? What did he want? And how did you get away?"

Dean sighed, a flicker of unease running through his stomach. He wanted to flinch his hands away from Sam's touch, but they were still constrained. Taking a deep breath, he said softly, "I think you already know what Castiel and I were doing in my head, Sam." He wanted to take the words back as soon as he said them because he didn't want to talk to Sam at all, didn't want his concern or his nursing, didn't want the pain that Sam tried to hide every time he looked at Dean.

It was Sam's turn to keep from flinching. Yeah, he did have a pretty good idea. But as much as he wanted to just let his brother be, he somehow knew that forcing Dean to think was a good thing. So Sam kept his eyes down and his voice steady as he replied, "All right, fair enough. Then why did you try to get away?"

Dean shrugged and shook his head. "The hand helped," he said, fluttering his fingers and instantly regretting it as the action shifted the burned skin. "I remembered that he wasn't Cas." He didn't want to talk about this. "Are you going to take off the cuffs?" They were chafing the cuts on his wrists from struggling.

Sam chewed on his lip, thinking. Dean might have broken away from Cas this time, but once he fell asleep again his mind would be open to the angel once more. Sam wasn't an idiot, and he didn't want to wake up to find Cas inside because Dean had let him in after another dream session. But he was also aware that if Dean was going to start getting better, he was going to have to know that Sam trusted him. Sam's eyes drifted over Dean's shoulder and fell on the duffle bag by the door. If he could, if there was a chance... Setting Dean's hand down gently, Sam got up and walked across the room to rummage in the bag. At the very bottom he found them, small packets of dry herbs, and he let out a triumphant exclamation. "Yeah," he answered, coming back over to Dean. "Yeah, Dean, we can let you go as long as you promise to wear the hex bag I'm making you. It'll keep Cas from messing with your dreams again, okay?" Carefully Sam began mixing the appropriate ingredients. As an afterthought, he made five extras, setting them to one side. If Cas couldn't get to Dean he might try one of the others, so it was better to be safe than sorry.

"You're not afraid I'll try to leave?" Dean whispered, half-hoping Sam wouldn't notice. "Because, Sam, I... I didn't  _dislike_ —" His throat tightened and he fell silent, face crimson even though he wasn't sure why he was ashamed. He also didn't know why he was telling his brother he might leave. It didn't make sense. Returning to Castiel would be much easier without Sam constantly keeping Dean restrained. He blinked back tears and put his head back to look at the ceiling instead of his brother. He felt unclean. Dirty. Wrong. He shouldn't feel that way, he reminded himself. Castiel made him pure.

Sam paused and gave Dean a searching stare. "Well, I know you might want to go," he responded slowly, wondering how best to put it. Dean's stuttering admission made him feel faintly sick, but not because of Dean. Because of Cas, and the idea that the angel would ever think that was okay. "Do you think I should keep you cuffed?" Not that Sam really would make his brother stay cuffed with his wrists in shreds, but he wanted to know how Dean would answer. If Dean was really doing a better job of keeping it together now, he should realize the danger he was in, at least a little, right? Which meant that hopefully he'd say something about wanting to stay. Or at least not wanting Cas.

Dean continued chewing his lip and tried to figure out what he wanted. To stay with Sam? Not really. To go to Castiel? His heart leapt, but then an inexplicable sorrow swamped him. The feeling was suffocating, overwhelming, and he wanted to run from it, grab his car, turn up the radio, and fly down I-95. Anything to get away from himself. But some part of him knew that he wasn't up for that, and he hated himself for it. "I wanna shower, Sam," he said at last, not answering the question.

Sam sighed and then smiled at Dean. At least he was being honest. And not screaming for Castiel as though he would die without him. "All right, man, we can do that. Let me get you out of those cuffs." Sam quickly popped the cuffs off Dean's wrists first, wincing when he saw how deep they had actually cut. Next Sam bent to unlock the ankle restraints, half expecting Dean to try and kick him in the head and run. He wasn't sure why he was trusting Dean so much now, but he had the feeling that  _something_  had changed in the last twenty minutes. Maybe they were gonna find a way out of this after all. The key clicked in the second lock and Sam tensed slightly in spite of himself. If Dean was going to attack, now would be the time.

With his wrists free, Dean drew his arms in close to his body and hugged himself. He closed his eyes while Sam unlocked the ankle restraints, but blinked them open when both legs were free. He met his brother's eyes, then looked down and sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said, slowly lifting himself to his feet. The blanket fell in a crumpled heap at his feet, and neither he nor Sam bothered to pick it up. "You shouldn't be here."

"Where the hell else should I be? You've taken care of me my whole life Dean; I'm allowed to return the favor." Sam stood quickly, feeling irrationally comforted by Dean's calm. "And we aren't having this conversation right now," he added firmly as Dean opened his mouth to protest. "Right now we're getting you a shower. Come on, let's go ask Clem where the bathroom is." Sam kept a steadying hand hovering just behind Dean's back as the two of them made their way over to the kids' room. Sam knocked gently then poked his head in. "Hey, you guys got a shower in here? Dean's looking to clean up a little."

The kids were all awake, but were lying in the bunk beds that had been stacked there. The room was quiet as if they had been interrupted in the middle of an important conversation and were holding their breath for it to continue. Jenny sat up and said, "Down the hallway, on the right. There are some ratty towels that may or may not be clean in the closet just next to it. Check under the sink to see if anyone left soap or something, there normally is a bar or two."

They walked together in the way she suggested and Dean helped himself to a blue towel with frayed edges that smelled of dust. He held it tight against his chest and entered the bathroom.

Sam glanced around the bathroom, assuring himself that there were no windows. The only way Dean could get out was the way he came in, or by punching through the solid wooden wall. Sam rummaged under the sink and, sure enough, found a single bar of soap of questionable origin. Handing it to his brother, Sam hesitated. Normal Dean would kick his ass if Sam kept treating him like a kid, he knew. But normal Dean had left the building, and now his big brother was pretty much a kid anyway, so Sam decided it didn't matter. "I'm gonna be waiting just outside if you need me okay? Just call and I'll come right away." Sam backed out of the room and shut the door behind him, leaving his brother alone. Leaning against the wall opposite, he slid down into a sitting position and curled up, resting his forehead on his knees. Inside the bathroom he heard the water start and settled down with a sigh to wait for Dean to finish.

Between the frantic drive, and Cas showing up, and then Dean's dream, he hadn't had much time to process anything. Now that he did, he wasn't sure if it mattered. There was literally nothing he could do. Cas knew they were here, and that they had Dean, and he was no doubt biding his time until they tried to escape. And then he would… what? Kill them? From what Sam had heard tonight, the angel wouldn't kill Dean, though if Dean had the capacity he might wish he were dead. But Sam, and the kids? With a sinking feeling, Sam realized that he had led them all into a death trap. He hadn't been counting on Cas being able to find Dean; the fact that he had been able to was disturbing all on its own. And even if the angel did show up, Sam had been hanging onto the vague hope that it was all some kind of misunderstanding, that something else had broken his brother and Cas was just trying to help. And now they were in a cabin in the woods, playing the waiting game with a celestial monster that had no concept of time.

Even if they did manage to stop Cas—probably with an angel blade, seeing as the holy fire hadn't held him for long—there was every chance that Dean wasn't going to get better from this. Hell, it was even likely that Dean was stuck like this without some major angelic rewiring to put him back in working order. Sam couldn't even begin to know where to start looking for help; this wasn't exactly a common occurrence. So if Cas couldn't or wouldn't put Dean back together, Sam had to face the possibility that his brother would be like this permanently. With a soft exhale that wasn't quite a sob, Sam leaned his head back against the wall and covered his face with his hands.

 

The water was cold at first, but it heated up all right as Dean kept testing it with one hand. He vaguely remembered taking a shower earlier in the day, but he was too filthy to wait until tomorrow morning. Discarding the garments that weren't his, he called to his brother, "I'm gonna need new clothes, Sammy." Dean wondered if Sam would leave the door to go get them, but a moment later he heard his brother calling to the kids in the other room. So he couldn't sneak out. Disappointment warred with a muddled sense of relief, and Dean got into the shower.

It smelled slightly of mildew, but Dean didn't really mind. He had soap, he had water. He could be clean. And so he scrubbed himself with the bar, hard, like he meant to sandpaper off his skin instead of bathe. His face, his hair, his ears, all the way up and down his body, even his chafed wrists and his burnt hand, which he brutally put under the hot water and felt the pain thick and sweet. The humidity stuffed up the little room and he drank air rather than breathed it.

He still wasn't clean, but he was tired, so he sat with his feet toward the drain. The droplets bounced off his knees and into his eyes, and he had to close them against the spray so that the water trailed down his face like tears. He thought of Castiel, of his hands on his body, and made a soft sound of pleasure. Then he felt slightly sick to his stomach.

The water falling from such a height was making him feel numb and the warmth relaxed him. He wished he could sleep here, hidden from view and surrounded by the white noise of the shower. He could, he realized. Once he fell back asleep, Castiel would be there, and they would pick up where Sam had stopped them, and—

Dean sat bolt upright, stomach churning, knees shaking, and pressed his face to his knees. "Sam!" he cried before he could help himself.

When he heard Dean call him, Sam didn't  _quite_  kick down the door. Slamming into the room, which was overwhelmingly steamy, Sam pulled back the shower curtain—Dean could bitch about privacy later—and saw Dean sitting on the floor of the tub, naked and shaking, with the water still plastering his hair flat to his head. Sam retrieved Dean's clothes from the hallway and balanced them on the sink, closing the door behind him. Kneeling at the side of the tub, he turned the water off. Dean didn't move, and Sam didn't try to touch him. He wasn't sure if this was a panic attack or something else, but he knew enough to let his brother have some space, even if it wasn't regular anxiety. "What happened, Dean?" he asked as gently as he could.

When he called Sam, Dean had wanted the shower curtain to hide himself from Sam so that he wouldn't see Sam's expressions and Sam wouldn't see him. And he'd wanted the water on, to mute the sound of their voices from each other. But he needed Sam, so he didn't say any of this. His brother wouldn't understand anyways.

"Was it Cas?" Sam asked cautiously, and Dean wanted to yell at him and say that Cas was gone; why couldn't Sam understand that?

Then he paused. Sam wouldn't lie, and he kept saying that Cas was here. What if he was? The dread that filled Dean at the thought was paralyzing, but he kept his knees against his eyes and said hesitantly, voice shaking, "Do you think that Cas is still in him somewhere? Or is it just Castiel? Or are they the same person?"

Sam hesitated. He wanted Cas to be in there, wanted it very badly. But Sam couldn't forget the burning white eyes at the window, the way whatever it was had trapped Dean in his head and… If their angel was still in there, he was buried deep. Maybe further down than he and Dean could ever hope to reach. "They aren't the same," Sam answered finally. "Our Cas, the  _real_  Cas, he wouldn't have done any of this to us. He wouldn't have done it to you. And if our Cas is still in there, I promise I'll do my best to get him out." Sam scooped up the towel from the floor and tentatively held it out to Dean. "For now, why don't you dry off, and we'll get you clothes and a hex bag, and let you sleep. Sound good?"

Dean took the towel and draped it over himself, but didn't stand yet. "Sam? I—" He held his breath briefly to keep from sobbing, rubbed his face with the corner of the towel, then spoke with his voice muffled by the fabric and his hands. "I'm afraid that I hurt Cas." He flitted his eyes to glance at Sam for an instant, then looked away at the discolored floor of the tub. "Because if Cas is still in there, and me and Castiel…" He cleared his throat. "Even if it was in my head, it was real. Cas didn't say yes to that." He couldn't look at Sam. Couldn't look and wouldn't look because he was so ashamed, and he wished he could die, and now he could vaguely remember the awkward angel he loved so much, could remember him coming to Maine to take care of him on the last of his Grace simply because he'd had a nightmare. He could remember catching Raphael with him, talking about absent fathers who had hated their jobs at the post office, calling him when he needed help. He remembered his shadowed wings and the feel of his hand, comforting in the worst of situations, on his shoulder. He would never forgive himself if he hurt him. The nausea rose in his stomach again and he wondered why this hadn't occurred to him before, when he was dreaming.  _Because they're the same person._  He shuddered because the thought was too terrible.

Why?

He belonged to Castiel. It should only please him if Cas was Castiel.

And if he wasn't, well, nothing mattered but Castiel.

_No,_  part of him insisted stubbornly.  _Cas mattered because he was_ Cas _._  He didn't understand what that meant. He wished he could just sleep, sleep and talk to Castiel and worship him and not have to deal with this doubt.

Sam blinked, taken by surprise, but then anger built inside him. His gut reaction was to take Dean and shake him, to yell in his face that Dean shouldn't be worried about hurting Cas, because Cas had hurt him first and it wasn't Dean's fault, and dammit why did Dean have to blame himself for things he had no control over? But Sam suppressed the urge, staring at a mold spot on the ceiling until he felt like he was thinking rationally, could speak rationally.

"You didn't hurt him, Dean," Sam answered quietly. Without his frustration to hold him up he sagged like a sail with no wind behind it. He was tired, Dean was tired, and they both just needed to sleep. Sam stood and rubbed a hand across his face. "Look, I'm gonna go out there, and when you're all ready and dressed we can get the hex bags and find a real place to sleep." He walked to the door, took one last glance behind him at Dean, still sitting in the tub, and paused. His brother was a grown man and he could dress himself, but Sam couldn't stop the question from slipping out anyway. "Do you need any help?"

Dean shook his head and Sam left the room. Sam's reply hadn't convinced him, and he wanted to let the bathtub fill with water and then breath it all into his lungs, feel its burn and the panic of airlessness before his mind faded into blue oblivion and he was gone. But Castiel would just bring him back. Bring him back and be angry, and Dean was not brave enough to go through with death if it might mean he'd be revived and have to deal with the consequences. So he stood, dried himself with the towel, and then pulled on the clothes. Sam's clothes. He left the towel hanging from a hook and moved Andy's tee shirt and sweatpants to the corner of the room with his foot. Then he left the bathroom, free arm drawn protectively across his stomach.

Sam looked up when Dean came out, and his throat closed a bit at the sight of his brother wearing Sam's too-big clothes. Plaid flannel, of course, and any other time his brother would have made a joke about it, but now Dean just stood there looking lost. Sam stood with the handful of hex bags he had made, looping leather cord around one of the little sachets and slipping it over his head, then doing the same for a second one.

"Here," he said, offering it to Dean. "This should let you sleep… uninterrupted. And I bet there's another bedroom in here somewhere, so we don't have to fight over the couch." Sam smiled weakly at Dean, wishing for his old brother back, just for a second, even if it was some overused wisecrack about how tall Sam was.

Dean saw at the expression on his brother's face and froze. "You promised before you came that you wouldn't look at me like that."

Sam stilled in response to his brother's words. "Look at you like what, Dean?"

Dean tugged on the sleeves of the soft flannel and stared at the floor. "You promised you wouldn't look at me like I don't exist. Don't you remember?" he accused, glaring at Sam for a split second before looking away.

"No, hey, Dean, c'mon. I do remember, and I'm not looking at you like you don't exist." Sam wasn't sure what Dean meant, and it both worried and frustrated him. He wasn't sure what Dean meant a lot of the time recently.

"Yes, you are! I'm right here, Sam, but you look at me like you're looking for someone else. But this is me. I'm right  _here_."

Sam's heart clenched. "I'm sorry, Dean. I know you're here, I do. I'm just…" Sam fell silent. Dean's eyes were on him again, hurt and anxious, and his words were making no difference. He didn't know what else to say, and all he really wanted to do was hug his brother to make up for his useless reassurances, but he didn't know if it would soothe Dean or just make it worse. He decided it didn't matter and wrapped his arms around his brother, holding him tightly. "I'm just trying to figure out how to fix this," he whispered over Dean's head.

Dean crumpled slightly as Sam hugged him, squeezing his eyes shut and hesitantly bringing his arms up around Sam in return because Sam was warm and whole and something solid to hang onto. He didn't say anything, though, just exhaled and then ended the hug. Hesitantly, he took the hex bag Sam offered him and hung it around his neck, feeling its weight intimately, as if it were a visible sin rather than a ward of protection.

When Dean willingly slipped his hex bag over his head, Sam relaxed marginally. He had been half afraid he would have to tie it to his brother. "Thank you, Dean." Sam spoke so quietly that he wasn't sure his brother heard, but it didn't matter. Raising his voice, he continued, "We should go give the other ones to the kids, and then we can get some rest."

Dean silently followed Sam as he handed off the hex bags to the kids. He could feel them looking at him and he looked back, face blank. One hand curled into Sam's sleeve, and Dean couldn't bring himself to let go.

Sam felt Dean take hold of his sleeve and didn't dislodge him, not while he was talking and not while they were walking down the connecting hall to the other bedroom. Only when they got into the room and Sam saw the two beds did he pull away, turning to face his brother. "Hey Dean, I want you to share a bed with me tonight okay? So I can make sure you're safe." Sam smiled a little, reassuringly. "It would make me feel better." Sam was telling the truth; having Dean at his side would help him sleep better. And if the reason was because Sam wanted to make sure that his brother didn't sneak off, well. No one could blame him for being careful.

"Like hell I'm sharing a bed with you," Dean growled, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm not a freaking toddler, Sam, and I don't need you to treat me like one." Besides, Sam was tired, and Dean didn't want to wake him if he had that repeating nightmare again.  _When_  he had it, because he would, he was sure, and then Sam would wake up if they were in the same bed and keep asking Dean if he was okay, and Dean had no answer to that. Even so…he didn't want to be alone.

"Come on, Dean, don't be ridiculous." It was hard for Sam to sound stern when he was fighting a ridiculous urge to smile. Dean was putting up a fight now. "I'm just worried about you, all right? You slept better before when I was holding your hand." Sam ran his fingers through his hair distractedly, then gasped. "Shit, your hands!" He grabbed Dean's arm and tugged the sleeve of the flannel back to reveal the raw wounds, made worse by the over-hot shower. "I'm gonna go get more bandages, okay? Just stay right here until I get back." After a quick glance to reassure himself that the window was too small for Dean to climb out of, he bounded from the room, over-long legs taking him away at twice normal walking pace.

Dean sighed and sat on the edge of one of the beds as his brother ran off. He didn't particularly care about his chafed wrists and burned hand. The flannel had been irritating them, but he hadn't minded. Now, he peered at the wounds. Then poked his thumbnail into the cut on his left wrist and bent his head back as the pain intensified. When he stopped pressing, the world was a little clearer around him, and a few of the fragile scabs that had formed split. He went to do the same to his other wrist, wary of Sam coming back into the room.

Sam found more bandages—thank goodness the first aid kit had made it in from the car before they went into lockdown—and hurried back to the room. Just before he entered, he heard a soft sound that made him pause. A sigh, one of relief but also one that shook with pain ever so slightly. Alarmed, Sam rounded the doorway just in time to catch Dean hiding his hands behind his back and whipping his head towards the door with a guilty look on his face.

"Dean?" Sam approached cautiously, studying his brother's expression. "You okay?" When Dean didn't reply, Sam put the bandages down next to him. "Can I see your wrists now?" Dean shook his head, and Sam frowned. "Dean, come on. I just want to wrap them up."

Dean's stomach turned and he glanced away from his brother. It had been stupid to do that right before Sam was going to put bandages over the cuts. He didn't want to show Sam, didn't want to see the disappointment on his face, but he knew that he didn't really have a choice. Slowly, he brought his arms around front and held them out for Sam to inspect. Biting his lip, Dean watched his brother carefully, waiting for the hurt that he was sure would appear on his face.

Dean's wrists had been rubbed raw by the cuffs, but that wasn't what made Sam slowly close his eyes and swallow. The shredded skin had been marred afresh in several places on each wrist, beads of blood seeping out of the cracked scabs. The wounds were matched by the ruby clots under Dean's thumbnails, small streaks of blood crisscrossing the knuckles. Sam dropped onto the bed beside his brother and settled one wrist in his lap so that he could get the bandages on easier. Keeping his eyes on his work, because he had promised not to look at Dean that way, Sam asked "Why, Dean?"

Dean sighed because Sam asked too many questions and didn't like any of the answers. Even when they were true. He let his brother wrap up his arm and watched him work. There was a concentration, a pain across Sam's forehead and in the tightness of his shoulders, and though he didn't look at Dean at all, Dean could feel how every ounce of his brother's attention was focused on him. It made him uneasy. He licked his dry lips before he spoke. "It makes things clearer."

"It shouldn't. It isn't good for you, man!" His voice was soft and pained, and as much as he told himself not to be scared and angry, that it would only make Dean scared and angry, he couldn't help himself. Sam was at a loss. He didn't know how to deal with Dean like this, didn't have any idea what he was supposed to do about it. He just tried to keep his focus on Dean's arms, finishing the first wrist and starting on the one with the burn. "Dean, you've got to get yourself together. You can't stay like this."

"Dammit, Sam, I'm doing my best," Dean said because Sam was freaking out and Sam wasn't supposed to freak out, not now, not because of Dean. "You don't understand, I need something to hold onto and I haven't got much right now. I just wanna go and find Castiel but I'm trying so damn hard for you, you have no idea." His voice broke slightly and even though he tried not to, he cried anyways. Just a little, and he wiped the tears away from his eyes with his freshly bandaged wrist. "Don't you be mad at me. Please."

Sam finished dressing the burn and pulled his brother into a hug. "I'm not mad at you, Dean; I know you're trying." Sam murmured, swallowing down his own tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Every conversation Sam had with Dean only reminded him how far gone his brother really was. "And I know you need something to hold onto, but that needs to be me, okay?" Sam curled his fists in the back of Dean's borrowed shirt and shook him gently. Just like Dean had done for him months ago, he tried to ground his brother in reality as best he could. "You hold onto me, and you hold onto those kids we've got to take care of, and you hold onto that damn car of yours that I had to hotwire to get down here. You don't hold onto the pain."

"You hotwired my car?"

Sam laughed and hoped it didn't sound like a sob. "I had to, man. You would rather I left it at that shady motel?" Part of him was waiting for Dean to pull away from the hug, and part of him wished he never would.

Dean hesitantly leaned into Sam's hug, one hand finding its way around his brother. "That wasn't a shady motel, it was my freaking apartment, Sam. I live there."

"You sure? It looked pretty shady to me."

"Well, I'm sorry that I can't afford prime real estate, Sam." He sighed against his brother and couldn't decide if he should end the hug or not. "Listen, Sammy," he said, voice low now. "I'm holding onto you, okay?" Now he pulled away from his brother, tried to look him in the eye and ignore the constant nagging in the back of his head that he should be somewhere else, somewhere with Castiel.

"Good." Sam met Dean's gaze and smiled, his first genuine smile since Clem had called. "So what about going to sleep now, huh? You okay with sharing?"

Dean thought about Sam's hurt and scared voice from before, about the way he didn't look at Dean when he bandaged up his wrists, about him barreling into the bathroom when Dean called him, about him holding his hand when he fell asleep shackled to the chair. He sighed. "Fine." Then he paused and looked at Sam, a wave of anxiety going through him. "What if I have my bad dream again?"

"Bad dream? What bad dream?" Sam squeezed his brother's hand reassuringly. "Cas won't bother you again, remember?"

Dean shook his head wildly. "No, not Cas. Not Castiel either." He stared pleadingly at his brother. "I keep having the dream and it won't go away."

"What's it about?" Belatedly, Sam realized that asking Dean the contents of his nightmare just before he slept might not be the best idea.

With a half-sob, Dean tugged his hand out of Sam's and wrapped his arms around himself. "It's so real," he whispered.

"It's not, Dean. It's just a dream, it can't hurt you." Sam bit his lip, remembering what had happened to Dean earlier. "I won't let it hurt you," he amended.

"But I still had it even when Cas was there!" Even with the haziness of his memories, Dean knew that much. The thought of Cas rekindled his shame, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing himself to calm down. He thought of Castiel, and he relaxed and reopened his eyes. If he had the dream again, Castiel would save him, surely.

"But I wasn't here. I promise I'll wake you up if you have a nightmare, Dean."

Dean bit his lip and nodded slightly. "Okay," he mumbled, looking down. The truth was, he didn't think he'd be able to wake up from it. Every time he'd had it, it had played out in its entirety before he woke, gasping and terrified. But Sam's presence was a comfort, and he could almost convince himself that maybe,  _maybe_  Sam would be able to help him if he needed it.

"Don't worry," Sam told his brother, then paused. "You ready to sleep?" Dean half-nodded, half-shrugged, and Sam stood to let Dean get in first and then crawled in after him. There were a few seconds of awkward shuffling where both tall men tried to fit onto a single twin bed, then stillness. Sam stayed facing Dean, his nose almost buried in Dean's hair. Dean had his face to the wall and his back to Sam, but if he leaned up the younger Winchester could see the hex bag hanging around his brother's neck. This close, their combined body heat kept them warm, and they fell asleep the way they hadn't since they were children.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**"The longer you think the less you know what to do." ~ _Talking Bird_ , Death Cab for Cutie**

Dean slept calmly, barely moving. The nightmare he'd been fighting the past few nights didn't disturb him, and neither did Castiel. It was just him, inhaling, exhaling, body still and untrembling, warm in the chilly room from Sam's closeness. The dreams he did have were lonely, grey, and howling, whirling past him like the wind outside. They brought snippets of his life that he couldn't remember back to his consciousness. His mother kissing his brow and then singing him to sleep. His father lying in a hospital bed, the monitors beeping slowly. Sharing a bottle of Johnnie Walker with Sam and Bobby after a hunt. Ash's hand sticking out of the ruins of the Roadhouse. Jo saying that she was going to spend her last night on earth with self-respect. Then she looked at him suddenly, eyes bright and alive, and said "Dean." A moment later Sam called his name, soft, and Lisa's voice joined the others', then Bobby's and his father's and Ellen's and Ben's and more and more voices, all saying his name again and again in a jumble of sound. Dean had no words to reply to them, not sure that it was really him they were calling. He curled up, and covered his ears, and the voices faded into a kind of desperate melancholy before he could find the courage to speak. He could feel himself decaying even though he knew he was asleep, that it wasn't real. When he woke, he was sure there would be only a skeleton in the bed where his whole body, flesh and blood and breath, had been before.

He blinked himself awake in the early hours of the morning, when the darkness in the sky wasn't so absolute. It was still snowing outside and the entire house was blanketed in silence. Sam was asleep beside him, face pressed into the pillow and brow marked with concern even in sleep. He looked vulnerable, childlike, and Dean felt a new wave of guilt rush through him. He wasn't supposed to be doing this to Sam. He was supposed to take care of  _him_ , not the other way around. As it was, Dean was making Sam deal with things that were too much to ask of a little brother. He wanted to smooth the wrinkles off Sam's troubled forehead with his thumb, to take Sam out to the Impala and drive him home so he could read his books and take his tests and be happy instead of being here and miserable.

Dean unwrapped one of his wrists and pressed his nail into it again because the world was fuzzy around him again. The lack within him was distracting, overwhelming. He wanted to be happy. Just for a few minutes. Careful not to get blood on himself, Dean re-bandaged. He was lonely, and even though Sam was right there next to him, it didn't help. He wanted to talk to someone because the feeling of wrongness was upon him again, the feeling that he had broken something precious and it was his fault and nothing would be the same. He thought of Cas. He thought of Castiel. He held his breath and laid back, taking the hex bag in both of his hands.

Everything was fading when he decided to breathe again, and when he did so he had to remind himself of the process. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale again. Each breath was a thought, a question, an option weighed in his mind.

Sam sighed and resettled beside him. Dean rolled onto his side, slung the blanket over his shoulder, and hesitantly removed the hex bag, untying the knot that kept the leather in a loop to be worn, putting it under him, and hoping if Sam noticed, he'd think Dean accidentally pulled it off while moving in his sleep.

He licked his dry lips, curled his hands against his chest, and closed his eyes. In a few moments he was asleep again.

 

Castiel paced in the woods, mind whirling. The graceful sweep of death and rebirth around him was disrupted, stuttering. Trees blistered and warped into sharp points of petrified wood, providing slick perches for the birds that fell from the sky as their wings shed feathers and sprouted the membranes of bats. Despite the surrounding chaos, the angel's introspection was undisturbed. Try as he might, he couldn't forget the look on Dean's face as he accused Castiel of "not being Cas." It was ridiculous, of course. Castiel was Cas, had all the same memories, all the same experiences, all the same… Castiel frowned. There was something strange about his memories of Dean. The emotions associated with him were muddled, unclear.

Castiel's Grace swelled as he stopped moving, and his ruminations were interrupted by a shock of burning pain. The surrounding foliage crisped and blackened as his wings flashed into the physical world again, charring his surroundings. Castiel growled in frustration and forced them away, but they flared out again anyway. It was his Grace, he realized, though the rush of power in his being was making it difficult to think straight. He was exceeding not just the limits of his physical body, but his celestial one as well. It was uncomfortable and disturbing, and, in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pressure, Castiel turned all the sparrows and blue birds into hawks and made the stream run with blood. The snow storm turned to rain and the rain into tiny silver droplets that rattled as they bounced off the stone trees and pooled on the ground, dissolving into the dirt after a moment. Finally, Castiel stopped himself, forced his wings away, and stood, shaking. This wasn't right; he should not have this power, and he should be able to control what little Grace he was entitled to.

Castiel shook his head, trying to focus. Dean. No matter what else was going on, what else had changed, Dean was still the most important thing in Castiel's life. He tried to find Dean's dreams but they were blocked, and the old anger reignited. He wanted his hunter, and for the third time that night he was being kept from him. Castiel needed to see Dean, he needed to make Dean explain himself. A noise attracted Castiel's attention and he glanced down to see a chipmunk floundering in the stream, viscous red fluid sticking to its body. He blinked and the stream was restored, the birds returned to their proper forms. The snow began to fall softly again around him as Castiel stood motionless thinking, Grace diminished to a tolerable level for now.

He sensed the moment Dean woke, and it made him sad that even the presence of his hunter was gone. Then he was angry because sorrow had no place with him now. Before the fury could make much headway it was pierced through with sharp shards of memory, flashes of all the times that he had been sad in the past few years, all the times he had felt alone. And then inexplicably he remembered Dean's lips, shaping a prayer to him. "Cas." The first time he had used the name, the angel had been affronted, shocked at so casual a nickname for himself. Now though Dean only called him Castiel. When had that changed? Castiel began pacing again. He needed to talk to Dean, needed Dean with him, so that Castiel could figure out what was going on. As long as he had Dean, it would all be fine.

The part of Castiel that was always looking for Dean sensed him entering the realms of dreams again, and this time he was unprotected. The dream that was more than a dream descended on the hunter almost at once, but Castiel did not allow it to play itself out this time. He flew to the heart of the dream, where Dean cowered in front of some other Castiel, and snatched his hunter away.

 

The nightmare had started almost instantly and Dean shuddered in his sleep, trying desperately to get away its leaden grasp on his mind, but failing. The slaughtered bodies of the kids were before him again and the dream Castiel glowed with Grace, just about to burn out his eyes where he knelt, but then he felt someone grasp him tight and pull him away before Castiel's true form showed. The dream melted around him but he felt safe now, cradled and protected as the dream world reshaped itself from the bottom up, starting with asphalt, then rubber tires, then the body of the Impala all around them. He was in the front seat and the car was parked on the shoulder of a highway, other vehicles rolling past. And he was still close to his savior, who he now saw was Castiel, the real Castiel, so he smiled as his heart beat fast in his chest from fear or joy and he leaned to kiss him. Then stopped.

Castiel chose Dean's car as a setting for their conversation. It made Dean comfortable and Castiel wanted Dean to be comfortable. He wanted Dean to feel safe. He just… wanted Dean. Now that his hunter was with him again, Castiel's possessiveness rose, along with his sense of entitlement. He shifted closer as Dean leaned towards him, arms coming up to encircle his hunter. When Dean stopped Castiel continued the motion, gently planting a kiss on Dean's lips and cradling him closer to his chest. He had Dean now, and everything would be fine. Castiel frowned, remembering that he wanted to talk to Dean about something, but it was suddenly much more important to have Dean touching him, have the hunter there with him in this place. "I missed you, Dean," Castiel murmured into Dean's hair.

Dean let Castiel pull him sideways onto his lap and he sighed into the angel, the fear banished in favor of comfort. "I missed you too," he said. "So much." He put his head against Castiel's neck and relaxed against the arms the angel had around him. He was safe. There had been no reason for his earlier fear, for Sam's insistence on him using the hex bag. This was what he wanted. This was what he  _needed_ because the nausea and the shame were fading away. He must have been wrong. This could very well be Cas after all. The number of times Cas had told him he missed him… He snuggled against the angel. He loved him.

Castiel rumbled happily and held Dean closer, letting him nuzzle into his neck. This was good, and Castiel wished they could just stay there. He wished they could have done this sooner but… the angel frowned, voice dropping to a more threatening growl. "Why couldn't I find you before, Dean? You were sleeping, but I couldn't reach you." Castiel's grip unconsciously tightened past comforting. He was angry again, and he didn't want to be, but Dean kept hiding from him and Castiel just wanted to keep Dean with him forever.

Dean flinched backward because suddenly this very clearly wasn't Cas, it was Castiel, and the change was jarring. Not that he didn't  _want_  Castiel, of course he did, but the angel was being rough when Dean needed gentleness. "You're hurting me," he cried. He should do something. Should push Castiel away if he was causing him pain, should fight back. That's what Sam would want him to do. But Sam didn't understand because such actions were not possible; this was Castiel, and Castiel was still the universe, and he was made to be worshipped. Dean was being grossly deviant by offering him anything but docile adoration as it was. His childish protest humiliated him and he hung his head.

Castiel had to fight with himself to let Dean pull away. His instincts were threatening to overwhelm him again, screaming at him that Dean should not care if Castiel was hurting him as long as it made Castiel happy. The way that Dean hung his head after his outburst both pleased and terrified Castiel. The jagged shards of memory pricked at him again, and Castiel remembered that Dean wasn't supposed to be so submissive, that he was supposed to confront Castiel when he did something wrong. Except Castiel hadn't done anything wrong, because Dean was his to do with what he pleased. Eventually the angel settled for shifting his grip on Dean so that he was holding the man by the shoulders. It gave the hunter more space, but at the same time he wouldn't be able to pull away unless Castiel let him.

"Dean, earlier you said I was not Cas. What did you mean?" Castiel ducked his head until Dean looked him in the eyes. This was why he was here, he remembered. Not to have Dean, but to talk to him. To get answers from him. "Tell me what you meant," he repeated firmly.

Dean shook his head and broke eye contact with the angel. "You're Castiel," he said slowly, wanting to both please the angel and be honest. "You are good and perfect and almighty. You are everything. And I am unworthy of the attention you give me." He met Castiel's blue eyes hesitantly then glanced down at his lips, licking his own. He wanted so badly to kiss him right now, to make him overlook Dean's earlier transgression, to find forgiveness and forgetfulness against Castiel's skin.

When Castiel saw Dean lick his lips, he very nearly lost control. He wanted to hold Dean and run his hands over his body, and the fact that Dean clearly wanted the same made it difficult for Castiel to resist. But he couldn't forget that Dean hadn't answered his question. And his rising lust was not quite strong enough to mask Castiel's growing feeling that something was not right about Dean.

"Is Castiel the same as Cas?" he murmured, raising a hand to run his fingers through Dean's hair.

Dean fluttered his eyes shut and let Castiel pet him. It was a soothing feeling, but it didn't calm the discomfort in his stomach. He didn't want to say no because he was afraid it would hurt Castiel, and he could never do that. But he had to tell the truth. The angel had already asked him twice, and his evasions were now bordering on disobedience. And disobedience was bad. But so was disloyalty. So he wavered on what to do, playing with his hands in front of him. "No," he said at last. "You are Castiel. Cas is gone." He thought of Sam saying that if Cas was still in the angel somewhere, they'd get him back. And he felt slightly ill at the thought because he needed Castiel, not Cas.

Castiel frowned, hand stilling in Dean's hair. Dean's words upset him, more than he would like to admit. He didn't understand, and it would be so easy to just kiss Dean's answer away, make it not matter. "Dean, why am I not Cas?"

Dean gauged Castiel's tone, his body language. There wasn't anger there, yet, just some sort of pained confusion. And he was asking questions again, questions Dean did not want to answer, questions he didn't know the true answer to. Castiel's hand was heavy on Dean's head. He thought about the change from Cas to Castiel. From Dean Winchester to… whatever echo he was now. The realization tore at his gut because he didn't want to be some shadow of himself, he didn't want to be broken, he didn't want to be obedient. He started slowly, compelled to truthfulness but feeling certain that he would incite Castiel's wrath upon himself. "You did something to me, Castiel." The words choked in his throat. "You changed me. But it was good that you did because I belong to you and I only want to please you. And I'm happier now because I have you and you are good and I want to be yours forever. But Cas would never. So you can't be him." He shifted on Castiel's lap, nervous and hoping that this was enough of an explanation for Castiel and that soon he would kiss him and they could forget they ever had this conversation. He licked his lips again, half out of anxiety.

Castiel had done something? The angel thought back, back to the time before he was strong and healthy again. He had come to Dean for something, that much he knew. And then he had awoken with his Grace restored. Flames flickered in Castiel's memory, hot and deadly.

"You trapped me in holy oil," he whispered, less to Dean and more to himself. "And I punished you for it." The act had been the last defiance of the old Dean, and in response Castiel had… no. He would never have done such a thing. But he had, hadn't he? Castiel had taken Dean and reshaped him to be more pleasing to his angel. He had… hurt Dean? No, Dean was unharmed but for the treatment he received at his brother's hands. Dean was happy to be with Castiel, and that was how it should be. It was better this way, it had to be this way.

Dean whimpered and clutched at Castiel's shirt. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He started to sob piteously. He only vaguely recalled what Castiel was talking about, but the very idea that he had rebelled was heartbreaking. He hated himself. "You were right to punish me; I don't deserve you."

The landscape outside flickered like pages being blown in the wind as Castiel's slowly replenishing Grace began to affect it. With the resurgence in power came surety, the knowledge that everything was as it should be. Castiel tugged Dean closer again and laid a gentle kiss on his forehead between his eyes. "Shh, Dean, don't cry," he crooned in Dean's ear. "It's all right; I forgive you. Do not worry about Cas or Castiel." As he had once before, he used his Grace to relax Dean, wrapping the hunter's dream self in layers of soft reassurance. "You can be mine forever, Dean, I promise."

The nervousness faded from Dean's body and he smiled, feeling contentment settle over him. He shifted so that he was straddling Castiel's lap instead of sitting across it and kissed him, then pulled away just a little so that their lips barely brushed and said, "Thank you." Castiel kissed him again, hands caressing down Dean's body. Dean laced his fingers through Castiel's dark hair and kissed him more passionately back. He needed this. The closeness, the care, even though Castiel's hands were growing rougher on his body, more demanding, and his lips left Dean's to suck bruises the skin on his neck and along his collarbone. He was happy. He wanted nothing more.

Then a flash of white light blinded him and Castiel was gone as if he'd never existed. Dean groped wildly for him in the nothingness, panic tight in his chest, and he cried out his name. There was no reply, so Dean ran through the whiteness, desperately trying to find the angel, tears streaming from his face because he needed Castiel, and Castiel wouldn't just leave him like that, so something must have happened to him. But he couldn't find him, and his absence crept like death into his bones and he awoke, cheeks wet from tears. Sam shifted beside him. He'd forgotten he was in bed with his brother, back to back with him now.

Dean's fingers reached for his neck and found the hex bag hanging from it once more. He sighed, wiping his eyes with his hand. If he took it off again, Sam wouldn't believe that it was an accident if he even did now. So he closed his eyes tight and tried to fall asleep again without letting his brother know that he was crying.

 

Sam's sleep was restless after he woke to find Dean's hex bag missing, and in the early hours of the morning he finally reached the point where he couldn't fall asleep again. After checking to make sure Dean's hex bag was still in place, Sam carefully rolled out of bed. He stood for a moment, looking down at Dean, who was curled up against the wall like a scared child. Sam sighed at the unneeded reminder that something was wrong with Dean, and considered shaking him awake. But he couldn't bear to disrupt the little peaceful sleep that Dean had found, so instead he backed quietly out of the room and padded down the hall towards the other bedroom. He wanted to peek in on the kids and make sure they were all right. It had been a very long night.

When the door creaked as Sam left, Dean awoke and rolled onto his back, staring at the white ceiling. He could hear his brother engaged in some conversation with the kids in the room next door.

Dean missed Castiel. Painfully. And to have been torn away from him so thoughtlessly last night, without even a chance to say goodbye, hurt him deeply. His fingers flicked to the bandage on his arm and he almost started unwrapping it when he remembered the sigils painted on the window. The sigils keeping Castiel out.

Scooting out of bed, Dean placed his bare feet on the floor and stepped over to the window. He looked out over the freshly fallen snow that muffled the land, searching for Castiel in the quiet stillness. When he failed to find him, he clenched his jaw and rubbed at the sigil painted on the glass. "Dammit," he whispered when it didn't rub off easily, and then began scratching at the glass with his nails, paint chips floating down from the sigil like red confetti. He had to do better than this. Doubling his speed, Dean used both hands, mutilating the sigil. He couldn't remember how much of it had to be destroyed before it wouldn't keep Castiel out anymore, so he just kept working, kept focused.

_I'm letting you in,_  he prayed, knowing that Castiel would hear.  _Please come. I need you. Please, please._

 

Castiel was torn from Dean unceremoniously, thrown into the abyss of dreamless human sleep without warning. He hung for a moment, lost and confused, before reason reasserted itself. Dean was still there, Castiel could feel him, but once more there was a barrier around his mind. Some construct of Sam's, no doubt, and he had a sudden urge to fly back to the cabin and raze it to the ground, sigils or no. Dean would be inside, but Castiel could heal him. Bring him back, if need be.

Castiel returned to his physical body and spread his wings, Grace crackling furiously around him. A blast of power radiated from him, flattening the closer shrubs and small trees. The action reminded him unexpectedly of the way the trees around Dean's grave had looked when Castiel had raised him from perdition, and the angel paused. He remembered that he had once found the very idea of bringing Dean back to life being awesome and terrifying, and he wondered what had changed. His Grace rolled within him, vast and infinite and demanding that he act, and Castiel whimpered softly before he realized what he was doing. It wasn't supposed to feel like this, but it also felt good to be strong and the angel didn't know how to handle it.

He laid his hand against a tree trunk and the bare branches sprang to life, buds and leaves unfurling in delicate sprigs of precious metals and jewels. In a matter of moments, the new growths began to drop off like ripe fruits. Ruby and sapphire leaves shot with veins of silver clattered to the ground amid gleaming opal berries twined with stems of gold. It was beautiful, unnatural, and difficult, and Castiel felt a pang of relief mixed with loss as the flood of Grace ebbed again. At the same time he heard, clear as a bell, Dean's prayer. Sam must have left him alone, and the hunter was trying to help his angel. Castiel's face lit with a smile that could have brought a city to its knees before him. He would have Dean back, and soon. The angel spread his wings, which were once more smooth and unmarred by errant bursts of Grace, and flew towards the source of Dean's prayer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**“My boyfriend’s back and you’re gonna be in trouble.” ~ _My Boyfriend’s Back_ , The Angels**

After talking to the kids and making sure they were all right, Sam made his way to the front room and rooted around in his bag to see what supplies he had handy.  He found a small flask of holy oil, hardly enough to draw a circle with, but it went into his pocket anyway.  He found Ruby's knife, which went on his hip even though he knew it wouldn't make Cas bat an eyelash.  Maybe it was a security blanket.  Then he saw cool silver glinting at the bottom of the bag.  The angel blade; he had almost forgotten about it.  Sam closed his fingers around the hilt, feeling its unearthly chill against his skin. He didn’t want to use it, he didn't even want to _consider_ using it, but…  Sam stood with a sigh and carried the weapon over to the sofa. He grabbed his jacket from the end, shrugged into it, and tucked the blade into the loop on the inside of his coat, ready to be drawn if necessary.  Then he returned to his room to see how Dean was.  The first thing Sam saw was the empty bed, and then his eyes went to the window.  The sigil had been chipped off in places, and Dean was still attacking it with his bare hands.  

“Dean, no!” he yelled, crossing the room in three quick steps and wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders, trapping his upper arms and wrestling him back from the glass.  His brother's hands were covered in flakes of paint like tiny drops of blood, and the Enochian on the windowpane was badly damaged.  “What the hell are you doing?” Sam demanded, but he already knew.  He had been an idiot, assuming that Dean's complacency the night before had meant he was getting better, and now they were going to pay for it.  He held his breath, hoping against hope that the wards were still working, that Dean hadn't damaged them to the point of uselessness.  

“Get the _hell_ off me,” Dean said, voice catching and raising in pitch like a hysterical child as he struggled with his brother.  He stared desperately at the sigil, hoping he’d done enough.  “You don’t understand, Sam, I need him.  I’ve got to be with him, please.”   _Sam stopped me and I don’t know if I did enough, but please, please…_

Sam’s arms were heavy around him, confining, but when Castiel arrived, he would be able to take Dean away without any trouble.  Dean kept struggling, though, because maybe, if he could get away, he would be able to damage the sigil further, if it wasn’t broken already.  He held his breath.  Castiel should be here by now if the house was unwarded.   But… What if the reason he wasn’t here didn’t have to do with the sigil?  What if he didn’t want to come?  What if he didn’t want Dean anymore?  Tears rose to Dean’s eyes but he fought them back down, remembering Castiel’s promise that Dean could be his forever.  It gave him hope.  Castiel would be here if he could get here.  So that meant that the window was still keeping him out.  

Without warning, Dean drove his heel into Sam’s foot, praying it would be enough of a shock that he could get free.  It was, and without hesitating Dean ran up and slammed his elbow into the glass, cracking it.  Sam was coming after him again, but Dean managed to wind up and deliver one more blow, putting all his desperation and longing into it.  The pane shattered, shards scraping his skin through the flannel and showering down on his head and shoulders.  “Castiel!”  Dean cried triumphantly, even as Sam grabbed him and started to haul him towards the door.

And then there was Castiel, the angel who he belonged to, right before him and the upset tears that had gathered in his eyes before spilled over in happiness and relief.  Castiel, right in front of him, real and physical and not just a dream.  He wrenched at Sam’s hold in desperation because _god_ , he wanted nothing more than to run to Castiel and collapse into his arms and feel whole again.  “You came,” he whispered.

Castiel saw Dean and smiled widely, his whole being filling with joy.  The feeling did not diminish even when he saw Sam trying desperately to drag Dean away, because there was nothing the hunter could do now.  Castiel was here and he was going to rescue Dean.

“I always come when you call, Dean,” Castiel answered, and now his smile did falter slightly, because he had said those words before, in a different time, with different emotions in them.  As though it had been waiting for an opportunity to strike, memory crashed down on him.   _Stand behind me, the one time I ask_.  And the hunter's angry retort: _Go back to Crowley and tell him I said you can both kiss my ass._ Only it hadn't been the last time Cas had asked Dean to stand behind him, and in the end it had been a terrible mistake.  One spark of insight burned clearly in his mind: Dean had refused to obey him, and it had saved his life.  The angel cocked his head to one side, searching Dean's face for some trace of that defiance, and found only adoration and a desperate longing that made Castiel feel powerful and scared at the same time.  Would Dean stand up to him like that again if he had to?  Castiel wondered suddenly.  Then, on the heels of that thought—had he already?

Dean could feel Sam’s grip on him tighten and he would have been angry if he hadn’t been so damn happy.  Sam was yelling in his ear, though, shouting some nonsense about Castiel hurting Dean, but Dean didn’t really notice his words.  He just smiled through his tears and relaxed completely.  Castiel would take him away in another moment; he had no need to continue fighting against his brother.

Someone opened the door to the bedroom, entered, and more people grabbed at him, but Dean didn’t even look back as Sam started speaking urgently to them too because none of this mattered, none of this mattered at all.  Castiel was here.

“Dammit, Dean, no!  I'm not gonna let him hurt you!” Sam's words had no effect on Dean, did nothing to stop the blissful grin that spread across his brother's face as Dean relaxed— _relaxed_ —in Sam's arms, sure that he was about to be taken away.  Behind them the door burst open and Sam heard Andy curse under his breath.  Time seemed to slow down and then speed up past normal as Sam made a decision.

“Take Dean and stay back,” he ordered, pushing his unresisting brother at them.  “You're gonna get hurt if you try to get involved, just… just hold him okay?”  Sam whirled back, half expecting Cas to be in his face and about to smite him, but the angel hadn't moved.  He was standing where he had landed, same trenchcoat, same clear blue eyes, same curious head tilt as usual.  But Sam didn't trust the façade, because less than twelve hours ago this thing had raped Dean inside his own dreams, and that wasn't something that just went away with time.

“Stay back!”  Sam planted himself between the angel and the kids who were sheltering Dean.  “If the real Cas is in there I don't want to hurt you, man, but you're seriously messed up right now and you can't have Dean.”  He let his hand creep up to the lining of his jacket, ready to draw the angel blade.  He _didn't_ want to hurt Cas, but he wasn’t going to let Dean go without a fight either.  

Castiel did not move as Sam threatened him, or when the hunter physically put himself between the angel and Dean.  He was still processing his emotions, trying to figure out what it was that was wrong.  Was it Dean?  Was it himself?  Sam's words brought his attention back to the present, and he frowned.  

“You as well?” he asked, displeasure coloring his voice. “I _am_ Cas, I have said this before.”  His frown deepened.  “And I am not ‘messed up,’ Sam.  I just want what is mine.  Besides, your brother wants me to take him away.  He prayed for this.”  Another slice of memory. _He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this_.  Some of the first words he said to Dean.  Castiel shook his head impatiently.  He didn't want to think about such moments, not now.  Now things were different.  Castiel was better than ever, and this wasn't a vessel; it was _his_ body.  

Angels were not supposed to have bodies like this, but Castiel did, because he had Fallen.  He had Fallen and lost his Grace and been trapped.

But… his Grace had been restored.  How?

Castiel's gaze flickered rapidly around the room until it landed on Dean, anchoring him.  Yes, Dean was what was important now, not the useless clashing of thoughts that plagued Castiel.  

“I’m taking Dean,” the angel repeated, stepping forward.  “Do not try to stop me.”

“I said keep away!” Sam snarled, drawing the blade from within his coat.  The angel pulled up short, staring at it, and Sam made no move to attack.  “Look, just… we're trying to fix all of this but you can't take Dean because it's not good for either of you.  Come on, you've gotta know that there's something wrong with this!  Our Cas wouldn't ever have done what you've been doing.”

Sam didn't know why he was trying so hard to talk Cas out of this.  Maybe it was the fear that if the angel really decided to kill them there wasn't a damn thing Sam could do about it.  Maybe it was the faintest hint of genuine confusion in the angel's eyes, eyes that were no longer washed white with power.  Maybe it was the knowledge that neither Dean, the old one or this facsimile that Cas had created, would ever forgive him if Cas died.  Whatever it was it kept Sam from striking out immediately, kept him from trying the easy solution.  

“No!”  Dean elbowed Clem in the face, clipped Andy in the underside of his jaw, and jerked his body enough to free himself of the kids because _dammit_ nothing could hold him if Castiel was in trouble.  He lunged for his brother, reaching with his hands to rip the blasphemous object away from him, but Sam held fast to it, shoving Dean away so that he stumbled backward a few steps.  This time, Dean switched tactics and leapt at his brother, punching him in the face.  

Dean may be confused, but not so much that he couldn’t throw a good punch.  Sam staggered back, vision swimming, one hand reaching out as if it could fend Dean off.  The other still kept its death grip on the blade because Sam knew that if he lost it, he would be completely screwed.  

“Stop, Dean, please!” Sam cried.  He didn't care that he was begging; he just needed Dean to let him be, because Sam really didn’t want to hit Dean when he was like this.  It felt wrong somehow, almost as if he were hitting a kid.  Dean didn't respond and didn't stop trying to disarm him, and Sam wondered for a moment if this was how he was going to go, beaten to a pulp by his brother and finished off by his best friend.

Castiel saw Dean attack and was filled with warmth, because his hunter was trying to protect him from the threat.  But that heat turned to dread in an instant because this was fundamentally _wrong_ and Sam was Dean's brother and Dean should never want to kill his brother the way he did in that instant.

“Dean, stop!” he commanded, voice ringing across the room, freezing Dean mid swing, startling the children, who had begun to come to Sam's aid, and causing Sam to whip his head around and stare at him from an eye nearly swollen shut.  “You mustn’t hurt Sam.”

Dean blinked.  Lowered his fist.  Looked back at Castiel just to check that he had understood.  Castiel’s face was drawn, blue eyes sad, and Dean flinched away from his brother, sick to his stomach because now he’d both hurt his brother and done something Castiel did not want.  He was bad.  Everything was blurry around him and he played with the edge of the bandage on his left wrist, trying to figure out what to do.  Everyone was staring at Castiel, now, everyone except Dean, whose gaze flitted from Sam to Castiel to try to read the correct course of action.  He couldn’t figure it out, though, and so he looked at the floor.  No one cared what he was doing as long as he was still, so he unwrapped the bandage and dug his nail into his wrist again.  The pain washed over him and he closed his eyes briefly.  That was better.  Maybe he could think now.  He opened his eyes and looked at his brother, his poor brother with his broken face.  He didn’t want to hurt Sammy.

Sam just stared at the angel, taking deep, painful breaths that tugged at his damaged face.  Cas had… saved him?  And now he was just watching Sam with a horrible stare, like he was confused but didn't know why, and…

“Dean!”  Clem's voice cut through Sam's daze, and he turned to see her grabbing at Dean's hands, forcing them apart.  “Please don’t.”  Clem sounded like she was about to cry.  Her fingers fumbled with the loose bandage, wadding the hanging end up into a messy bunch and holding it over the wound to make it stop bleeding.  She laced the fingers of her other hand through Dean's, ignoring the blood on his thumb.

“Dammit, Cas.  Do you see that?”  Sam pulled himself to his feet, careful not to make any threatening moves towards the angel.  Not when it was apparently Cas’s decision whether Dean would attack again.  “He's hurting himself.  Because of you.  How does that make you feel, Cas?  You did that to him!”  Sam was practically screaming by now but he couldn't seem to make himself stop.  

Dean let Clem take his hands without really paying any attention to her, still staring at the angel blade, but when Sam started yelling, he changed focus.  Sam’s words were painful and he was _blaming_ Castiel for something even though nothing was wrong and Dean shook his head, saying, “No, no, I’m not hurting myself, it makes it better,” and “Castiel didn’t do anything to me, he makes me happy, why are you saying these things, Sam?  Stop, please stop saying that.”  He was overwhelmed and wanted to tug his hands free of Clem’s to put his nail in his wrist again, but they didn’t understand that he wasn’t hurting himself so he didn’t, just looked pleadingly between the angel and his brother.

Castiel recoiled at Sam's words, glancing at Dean.  No, it wasn't Castiel's fault, because Castiel would never do anything to hurt Dean.  Except he had before, hadn't he?  He took a step towards Dean but stopped when Sam lifted the blade threateningly.  Not for Sam's sake but for Dean’s, Castiel stopped; he knew that Dean couldn't hurt Sam but he would want to anyway if Sam threatened Castiel again.

“Take your hands off him!” Castiel snapped, and he was gratified to see that the girl flinched and dropped Dean's wrists immediately.  Good, she had learned.  “What do you mean by ‘it makes it better,’ Dean?” Castiel asked.  “Makes what better?”

Dean’s entire body went still, then he started to tremble.  His hand inched back towards his wrist, but Clem hesitantly knocked it away when it touched the bandage, glancing nervously at Castiel.  Dean searched for answers in his brother’s face and the angel’s stiff posture, in the paint chips from the sigil and the shards of glass on the floor, in his too-big shirt and his bandages that needed to be changed, in Clem hovering next to him and the other kids standing stony-faced behind, in the whisper of the wind through the window frame and the cold whiteness of snowfall.  “I don’t know,” he said at last, starting to cry.  He curled in on himself—shoulders collapsed, neck bent, wrists placed on his forehead—, not wanting anyone to look at him, not wanting to be spoken to, not wanting to speak, just wanting to close his eyes and find that gray nothingness in his dreams and hide there, weightless, suspended, alone.

No, that was wrong.  He wanted Castiel to come over to him, to grip him tight and raise him from this hell.  He shuddered.

“Dean!” Sam's voice was pained and he glanced back and forth between his brother and Cas, indecision paralyzing him.  He wanted to go to Dean and hold him, but he couldn't just put his blade down so easily, not when Cas was right there and by no means trustworthy.  He wanted to run up to the angel and cut him in a thousand tiny places until he fixed Dean, but Sam knew that Dean would never let him do that, order from Cas or no.  So Sam stood there, motionless, and watched as his brother fell apart.  

Castiel’s need to go to Dean finally overwhelmed his muddled impression that there was a reason he was not supposed to use his Grace on Sam.  He closed the distance between himself and Dean in a matter of seconds, and when Sam tried to attack Castiel just pushed him away, shoved him up against the wall and held him there.  

The angel stared down at Clem for a long moment, remembering how her hands had been on Dean before Castiel had made his claim, how she had no doubt continued to touch and caress him even after Castiel had made it clear that Dean was off limits to her.  His anger rose in his Grace, but Dean gave a hiccoughing sob that stopped Castiel short.  Dean was the important one here—the girl's punishment could wait until later.  With a wave of his hand, Castiel threw her almost gently back to her friends in the doorway, who cushioned her fall.  Then he was finally alone with Dean, in the flesh, for the first time since before the hunter had been taken.  Castiel reached out a hand and wiped a tear from Dean's face.  “Don't cry, my hunter, it will be all right.”  

Castiel touching him was like lightening because it was real, it was physical, it wasn’t just a dream, and here they were, together in spite of Sam’s efforts to keep them apart.  But Dean found that he couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t say, “Yes, I know,” couldn’t do anything except lean into the angel with fear leaping in his veins and stuttering in his heart.  Though he drew his arms away from his face, he didn’t put them around the angel; they stayed tight against his chest, hands curled under his chin.  Castiel, though, cradled him there for a moment and Dean wondered if this was goodbye to Sam and the others, if he would be gone forever now.  He turned his head to look at where Sam was pressed against the wall as if a demon held him there instead of an angel, and he desperately wanted Sam to come over and fix the bandage on his wrist, which was loose and bloodstained and left little scribbles of blood on Castiel’s coat when Dean moved.  He couldn’t stand the look on Sam’s face, couldn’t stand the panic and the pain and the defeat.  He continued to cry, couldn’t stop, even though Castiel had ordered him to, and it shocked him and scared him.  “I’m sorry,” he choked.  “I can’t stop, I can’t—”

“Dammit!" Sam struggled wildly against his invisible bonds, and wished for the first time that he was still drinking demon blood, even still going darkside, just so that he would be able to _do_ something against Cas. He had been stupid to think that he could threaten the angel with a blade as if he were another human, and now…  “Please!” The word ripped from him on a rush of desperate breath.  “Don't take my brother, Cas; don't take him any further away from me.  I’m _begging_ you!”  And Sam was and he didn’t care because Dean was still crying and babbling apologies as though he had committed some horrible sin, and Sam couldn’t see Cas’s face from here and couldn't be sure that the angel wasn't about to just fly off.  “Cas, look at him!  Is that what you want?  He doesn't even know who he is anymore!”

Castiel loosened his grip on Dean, glanced over his shoulder at Sam before returning his attention to his hunter.  Dean was still shaking and sobbing, and Castiel frowned because this wasn't what he wanted at all.  

“Dean was fine until you took him away from me!” he snapped, raising his eyes to the huddle of pathetic children in the entrance to the room.  But even as he spoke Castiel knew that wasn't quite true, because he had been punishing Dean.  

He forced himself to focus on that memory, to trace it back to others.  Dean had needed to be punished because he had tried to trap Castiel.  But that had been because Castiel had been acting strangely, except... Castiel had only been acting as he should. The tenuous thread of memory snapped, leaving Castiel wondering once more what it was that he couldn’t remember.  It was important, he knew, but...  He hissed angrily as the thoughts slipped away from him again.

“Would you like me to take you away, Dean?” Castiel asked almost desperately, hoping that Dean's answer would be able to clear some of the confusion from his mind.  “They can't stop us now.”

Dean sucked in his breath and held it.  Leave with Castiel.  It was what he’d been longing for, and he should tell Castiel yes, yes, please, he should rest his hand on the angel’s face and wait to be taken far, far away.  But instead he tugged himself away from Castiel just a little bit and turned to look at his brother.  His hand found the flesh on his other wrist now and he broke the skin with his nail.  One of the kids made a pained sound, and a few seconds later, as Dean stood there with his thumbnail digging into his arm, blood leaking from him, Castiel took both his hands and held onto them.  It made him nervous, having Castiel stopping him.  

He looked at his brother, who was waiting for an answer.  Waiting for Dean to say yes, probably, and Sam was probably talking to him because his lips were moving, but Dean couldn’t hear his words.  All that was apparent was the rushing of blood through his ears, the sound of Castiel’s trench coat crinkling as he shifted in place.  Sam didn’t even matter anymore.  Not to be heard, not to be seen.  Dean shut his eyes.

But he could still see his brother, see his idiot face with his puppy dog eyes and his worry lines.  And he could feel, deep in his bones, a conviction that Sam was precious.  That Sam could not be abandoned.

Dean looked at Castiel.  “I can’t leave Sam,” he heard himself saying.  “He’s my little brother, I gotta take care of him.  I can’t just leave him, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”  As he craned his neck to look at Sam, he tugged his hands from Castiel’s.  He didn't move away from the angel, though, instead gripping his trench coat with one fist as if Castiel was a lifeline.   

Sam had closed his eyes when Dean looked at Cas, waiting for his brother's assent, for that final flutter of wings as Castiel took away the last of Sam's family, so when Dean finally did speak, his eyes flew open in shock.  Dean had chosen to stay with him.  Sam's met his brother's gaze as his eyes misted over, and it took a few tries before he could speak around the lump in his throat.  When he did it wasn't anything profound or special.  Just Dean's name, whispered in disbelief and hope.  It was the wrong reason to stay, Sam knew, but it was _a_ reason and that was enough.

The force gripping him eased and he slid down the wall to land unsteadily on his feet.  A moment later he was moving towards his brother, who still had one hand wrapped around Cas’s coat like a nervous toddler.  The angel blade hit the floor somewhere between Sam's feet touching the floor and his arms wrapping around Dean, and Sam didn’t even care that Cas was still there, potentially deadly and way too close, because Dean was finally starting to be himself again.  

Sam was crying.  Just a little, but dammit if Dean ever meant to make his brother cry.  “Sammy,” he said, using his free hand to hug him tight, “you’re a mess.  See?  This is why I can’t just leave you.”  But then he crushed his face against Sam’s shoulder and hung on, hand sliding on Castiel’s coat, trying to understand why Castiel had let Sam come to him and realizing he’d done it for no other reason than to please Dean.  It was beyond his comprehension that someone would do something just to make him happy.  Dean was too insignificant to be worthy of such kindness.  Even so, he held his brother like something that could slip away in an instant, like something to be kept close and safe.

He didn’t let go of Castiel, though.  He needed him.

For his part, Castiel was experiencing a conflict of emotions.  Dean seemed happier, at least, with Sam around.  Castiel did not want to share, but he did want Dean happy.  So perhaps he could tolerate this.  At the same time, Castiel knew that Dean had chosen Sam, and it made part of Castiel angry enough to wipe Sam away, tear him from Dean's mind so that only Castiel remained as a choice.  But that part of him was small and tired, blown out in a burst of gemstones and silver leaves, and Castiel found he could ignore it.  If this would make Dean happy, then he would tolerate it.

Dean's hand never left Castiel’s jacket and he found himself staring down at the reddish brown smears that trailed up Dean's hand and across his fingers to soil the clean lines of Castiel's coat.  He thought of Dean's bloody finger breaking open the wound on his wrist and felt uneasy.  That was not how Dean Winchester dealt with problems.  When had it started? Was it Castiel's fault?  The angel shook his head once, banishing the thought.  He had only ever helped Dean, as he was doing now.  The angel rested his fingertips over Dean's pulse and sent a soothing burst of Grace into the flesh, cleansing infection, smoothing over skin and scar until nothing remained of the injury.  His Grace arrowed through Dean to the other arm and did the same there.  Dean need not harm himself any further.

Dean’s wrists and hand tingled so he loosed his brother to look at one, keeping the other hand firmly clenching Castiel’s coat.  The chafing marks on his wrists were gone, as were the wounds from his fingers and the angry burn Sam had left on the back of his hand.  He felt a moment of distress because the pain was gone and he needed that pain, he needed it like he needed air to breathe and food to eat, and he made a soft strangled noise in the back of his throat.  He looked back at Castiel, though, and saw in his eyes that it had been a gift, a kindness.  He shifted awkwardly, trying to convince himself that he didn’t need to mar his wrists again, and grasped for Sam to keep his other hand occupied.  He laced his fingers with his brother’s and held on hard.

Sam frowned Dean whimpered, eyes darting furiously over to see what Castiel was doing now.  To his surprise he saw the red marks on Dean's arm fading away into new skin, and a quick check confirmed that the angel had healed the other wrist too.  It was a very _Cas_ gesture and it confused Sam even more.  The angel in front of him was clearly not the being that had watched Sam through the window with murderous white eyes, but he still wasn't right.  For all his apparent rationality and kindness, this Cas still seemed to think that Dean being like this was okay.  Taking a step back, Sam squeezed Dean’s fingers comfortingly.  At least he was better.

Dean squeezed Sam’s hand back and looked at his brother, grateful for his concern.  Then he flinched when he saw Sam’s face again and remembered how he’d hurt him.  “Sam,” he mumbled.  He wanted to apologize, but couldn’t.  What he’d done was right; Sam had threatened Castiel, so Dean had been forced to fight him.  Even so…  He tugged his hand out of Sam’s and gingerly touched his brother’s face.  

Castiel did not miss the sadness on Dean’s face when he looked at Sam, and it bothered him.  Dean was supposed to be happy now, and seeing Sam hurt, even though it was for good reason, was preventing that.  Luckily, it was an easy problem for Castiel to solve.  Nudging Dean’s hand out of the way with his own, Castiel brushed his fingers over Sam’s face, restoring his damaged body.  The angel kept his eyes fixed on Dean, though, hoping to catch some sign that the hunter’s mind was more at ease.

Sam flinched at the unexpected contact, pulling back.  But before he could even begin to process how terrified he was that Cas was about to break him the way he’d broken Dean, the angel dropped his hand.  Cautiously, Sam blinked, and it didn’t hurt.  When he touched his nose, it was straight, and the swelling was totally gone.  As hard as it was to believe, Castiel had actually healed him.  Sam turned to the angel, a reflexive “thank you” on his lips, but he stopped.  Castiel wasn’t even looking at him; he was still staring at Dean and only Dean.  Of course.  It wasn’t Cas being Cas again, it was whatever this was trying to please Dean.  Sam bit down on the words and looked at his brother instead.

When the wounds on Sam’s face disappeared, Dean couldn’t control the feeling of relief that wash through him.  He wept, touched Sam’s cheek, then realized that he was paying attention to the wrong person.  He turned to Castiel, face glowing.  “Thank you,” he choked.  “Thank you.  I didn’t deserve—”  He couldn’t speak anymore, and so reached for Castiel, pressing close to him until the tears had faded.  Then he looked up at the angel and smiled.  “Thank you.”

Sam bit his lip to keep from yelling at Cas again as Dean started groveling.  Angering the angel wouldn't help their situation any.  Sam backed up a little more and glanced over to the kids, who were still standing huddled nervously in the doorway.  He wanted to tell them to get away, take whoever's car they had arrived in and just start driving, but that might upset this fragile peace and he couldn't afford to do that.  So he put them out of his mind for the moment and turned to Cas.  

“What are you going to do?”

Cas gave Sam a disbelieving stare.  “I am going to stay with my hunter, of course.”  His tone emphasized how ridiculous he considered the question to be.  “Dean needs me.”

Sam ground his teeth.  Dean only needed Cas because the angel had done something to him that neither of them would tell him about.

“Maybe if Castiel stays the nightmares will go away forever,” Dean said.  It was half to himself, but he could feel people looking at him and he ducked his head.  “Castiel took me out of my nightmare last night.  Castiel can keep me safe,” he said firmly.

“Dean,” said one of the kids behind him, and he craned his neck to see Clem, looking at him cautiously, “do you mean the nightmare you were having before all this started?  The one you told me about when I came to your apartment before all this happened?”

Dean thought back through his muddled memories and could faintly recall what Clem was referencing.  He nodded.

“But I didn’t have mine at all last night.  Cas told us they weren’t natural, so why…”  She trailed off, looking puzzled.  “I mean, at first I thought it was this,” she said, tugging on her hex bag, “but you had one too and you still got the dream, so…”

Dean shook his head and frowned, glancing at Sam furtively and biting his lip.

“Dean?  What is it?” Sam asked.

Dean curled his shoulders in and stared at the floor.  He was too ashamed to answer his brother, so he spoke to Clem instead.  “I took it off.  Sam fell asleep and I took it off.”

Sam wanted to be angry with Dean but he couldn't be because a theory was forming inside his mind and he had to cement it in quickly.  “You took it off?” he asked, and Dean's head sunk lower like a dog waiting to be kicked.  “No, Dean, it's okay,” Sam added quickly.  “But you're sure you didn't have the nightmare until after the hex bag was gone?”  His brother nodded miserably, still not looking up.  “It’s okay, Dean,”  Sam repeated, beginning to pace.

“Okay,” he started, thinking out loud.  “These dreams got blocked by hex bags, so they're not natural.  Magical then, but… not a specific curse, or it would only be blocked by a specific charm.  So something more widespread, but only affecting some people—” Sam glanced up at Clem with wide eyes.  “Clem, have you ever come into contact with any witches?"

The girl shook her head and Sam's stomach dropped.  Damn.  He had been so sure….

“What about Professor Johnson?” Andy reminded her pointedly.  The girl's face flushed.

“Andy, I thought you weren’t going to bring him up again!  The man's hospitalized, let him be!”

“Wait, who?”  Sam crossed to where the others stood, keeping one eye on Cas and Dean.  Clem whirled away from Andy angrily to face Sam.

“He was my American Studies professor last semester,” she answered shortly.  “And he has nothing to do with this.  He’s been sick with pneumonia for the past month.”

“Aww, poor guy.  I bet you visit him all the time, don’t you?”  Andy smirked, but his gaze was sharp.

“You’re just jealous that the professor’s got more game than you,” Keith said to Andy, earning him a glare from the other boy.

“Keith!” Clem yelped, eyes narrowing angrily.  The student had the grace to look ashamed.

“Jeez, Clem, it was a joke!  Sorry.”

Sam put a hand on Clem's shoulder before the argument could continue, forcing her to turn back to him.  “Clem, this is important okay?  Was he a witch or not?"

“No!  I don't know!”  She dropped her gaze.  “He did have some really weird old books though.  Like, creepy weird.  Kept them kind of hidden.  I probably wouldn’t have known he had them if I haven’t accidentally knocked his briefcase off his desk.”  She cleared her throat.

“And how did you knock his briefcase off his desk, Clem, pray tell?” Andy demanded.

“He was being a bastard,” she snarled.  “Not so different from you, as it turns out.”

Andy’s face reddened and he opened his mouth to say something, but Jenny cut him off.  “Stop being such an asshole, Andy.  Why, Sam, is it important?"

“It might be.”  Sam returned to his pacing, turning over all the pieces and trying to make them fit.  If his theory was correct…  Sam stopped pacing and turned to where Cas was still holding Dean, eyes tracking Sam's every movement.

“Cas, I have an idea but I don't know if you're gonna like it.”  The angel shifted slightly, but other than that remained silent.  ‘If whatever this is got to you too, it could be affecting you without your knowledge.”  Actually Sam was pretty damn sure it was affecting Cas, but he had to tread carefully.  He didn't want to give the angel any excuse to start smiting.  “So, here.” Sam pulled off his hex bag and held it out towards the angel, trying to be as calm and nonthreatening as possible.  “Just, you know, put it on and let me know if anything feels different. Do it for Dean.”

Castiel stared at the pouch in Sam's hand suspiciously.  He was perfectly fine, and he wasn't sure if he trusted Sam enough to let him put strange charms on him.  What if the sachet had some sort of binding in it and they took Dean away again while he was disabled?  Paranoia was an acidic taste in the back of the angel's mouth.

At the same time, Castiel could feel his Grace slowly starting to build again, and he had no desire to experience that excruciating strain when it overflowed.  Perhaps this would help him control it, at least a little.  Castiel realized how relaxed he had been in the past few minutes, despite Sam's threats, and wondered if it was the lack of power that allowed him to feel so comfortable.  It was a ridiculous notion of course because Grace was the core of an angel, made him what he was instead of the weak and helpless shell he had been before.

Castiel never wanted to go back there, never wanted a task as simple as flight to use him up so completely ever again.  He had a terrible feeling that whatever Sam might do would take away his newfound Grace once more, and it was that thought that decided him.  

“How can I trust you, Sam?  For all I know this is a trick to restrain me and steal Dean away again.” Castiel smiled gently. “I _am_ doing this for Dean.  How am I to properly defend what is mine if my strength is diminished?”  At his words the tension level in the room rose, and Dean became visibly anxious again.  Castiel ran his fingers through the man's hair along with a trickle of Grace through his veins to calm him.

At the feeling of Castiel’s hand in his hair, Dean loosed his hand from Castiel’s coat and pressed his face against his shoulder instead, breathing in his scent and wrapping his arms around him.  He didn’t remember whatever had been bothering him before, but it didn’t matter because he was Castiel’s, and Castiel would keep him safe.  Castiel cradled him close, still caressing his hair, and Dean relaxed, happy.

“But if something’s affecting you, Cas, it could be hurting you.  And if you are messed up somehow, then you can’t really take care of Dean, can you?”  

Sam’s words cut through Dean’s bliss slightly, and Dean lifted his head, trying to focus.  “Something could be hurting Castiel?” he asked, and Sam nodded.  Dean pulled away briefly, examining the angel.  “But how?”

Castiel growled in displeasure, and Dean shrank against him.  Alarm was growing in Dean’s stomach despite the comforting touch of the angel.

“We don’t know, Dean,” Sam said slowly.  “That’s why I want him to put this on.  To see if there is something hurting him.”

Dean’s eyes brightened with tears again and he tugged Castiel’s coat with one hand.  “You could be hurt?” he asked, voice small.  He let go of the angel and fumbled at the hex bag that still hung from his own neck, holding it out to him.  “I don’t want you hurt,” he said.  “Please, Castiel, put it on.  If you don’t like it you can take it off again.  But please.  You can’t be hurt.”

Castiel's eyes flicked from Sam to Dean and back again.  He was no fool—it was clear that Sam was manipulating Dean into agreeing with him, and that made Castiel angry.  But at the same time, Dean was afraid for him and Castiel wanted to put his hunter's mind at ease, despite his own growing discomfort.  Slowly, not quite hesitantly, he took the pouch from Dean and slipped the leather cord over his head.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI in case I forgot to say, this fic updates weekly. The goal is Tuesdays, but Cody and I do have lives outside of fic (sadly), and so sometimes, like this week, it comes in on Wednesday or Thursday instead. Thanks for reading!  
> PS we love hearing what people think, so as always feel free to comment! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. You may have noticed, but it’s been a while. And we were doing so well too!! But Cody was sick and I was lazy and we both had finals. Well, I still have finals. But we’ll try to do better over break. Thank you for sticking with it, and we hope you enjoy!

 

 

 

**Chapter 10  
** **“Or could it be that the stranger is me? Have I changed so drastically?”  
** **~ _Stranger in My House_ , Tamia**

The change was immediate, but not as horrible as Castiel had feared.  The bubbling font of Grace at the center of his being stilled, its inexorable press towards action fading to something more tolerable.  And then, as though he were peering into a reflecting pool, images began to rise to the surface of the Grace, memories and impressions.  The one thing that Castiel saw over and over, in so many different ways that were still the same, was Dean’s face.  The Dean in his mind's eye had deep worry lines in his forehead and delicate fans of laughter around his eyes.  The hunter’s face was tense and careworn, expression perpetually ready to tip into anger or fear, and yet…these glimpses were more Dean than the man who stood in front of Castiel now, with nothing but adoration and anxiety in his gaze.  Castiel pulled away from Dean slightly, shaking his head.

“This isn't right,” he murmured, bewildered blue eyes never leaving Dean's guileless green ones.

“What?” Dean said, hands fluttering nervously around Castiel’s face, fingertips resting against his cheek briefly before moving away.  “Are you hurt?  If you’re hurt we can fix it, Castiel; we can make it better, I promise, I’ll do anything, _anything_.”

“No, I'm not hurt, I just… aren't you angry with me, Dean?”  Castiel knew that Dean should be, that he had done something reprehensible to this precious human of his, but he couldn't figure out what.  The knowledge was there, on the edge of Castiel's awareness, and he fought to capture it.   

Dean sighed in relief and hugged Castiel.  “How could I be mad at you?” he said.  The angel was safe.  

Castiel saw Sam shift in the edge of his vision and looked at him, an almost childlike expression of confusion on his face.  “Sam?  Why is Dean like this?”

The angel’s words sent a cold ripple of anxiety through Dean’s body.  Castiel was talking about Dean like he didn’t exist, and fear gripped Dean tight.  He didn’t want that.  He had expected that from Sam, but not from Castiel, Castiel would _never_.  So Dean put his face in the crook of the angel’s neck and waited for it to pass.  For Castiel to pet his hair again, or to talk to him, or to hold him, or to do something instead of asking Sam questions about him.

Sam almost choked when Cas asked him what had happened to Dean.  “You don't remember?” he demanded, fury constricting his throat so that he could barely get the words out.  “Because no one seems to know anything that happened between Clem leaving you two alone and then coming back and finding you in the holy fire.”  Sam realized it was probably a bad idea to bring up that particular moment, but he didn't care.  He had seen the look of terror on Dean's face when Castiel asked Sam about him, and that only made it worse.  “So let me ask _you_ , Cas.  Why is Dean like this?”

“I punished him.”  Castiel's words were soft, almost an afterthought, a knee-jerk reaction to the question, but he realized they were the right answer.  He would have said more but the way Dean was shaking against Castiel distracted him.  The angel could sense the terror that filled him, but it was the wrong sort of terror.  The thought made no sense and yet Castiel knew it was right.  When Dean was scared, it shouldn't be like this, this intensely personal, childish dread; it should be fear mixed with planning, with conviction to overcome it.  “Dean, it's all right; don't be afraid,” he reassured the hunter, pulling back slightly from Dean to lay a gentle kiss on his cheek.  And while Castiel felt that he shouldn't do that, shouldn't cater to whatever was wrong with Dean, he had to, because Dean was his and Castiel was going to protect him.  “I've got you, Dean.”

Dean quieted his tears to hiccups.  Castiel was so kind to him.  He clung to the angel desperately, fingers caught up in the back of his trench coat.  But Castiel had spoken of the punishment, of what he’d done wrong, and he was ashamed.  Ashamed that he had done such a thing, ashamed that Castiel saw fit to tell the others of his disloyalty.  “I’m sorry I was bad,” he mumbled.  “I won’t ever do it again.  I was wrong, Castiel.  Please forgive me, I’m sorry.”

Sam saw red when Dean started begging Cas for forgiveness.  It took every ounce of willpower he had to not pick up the blade at his feet and ram it home between the angel’s shoulders.  He reminded himself that he was doing this to help Dean, and that he needed Cas to have any chance of fixing his brother, and eventually he was calm enough to speak without screaming.  “What the hell does that mean?” Sam gritted out, hands balling into fists at his sides.  “Punished him for what, and how?”

Castiel stared blankly at the wall, Sam's words toppling around in his mind like dominoes, freeing more impressions of the early minutes of his rebirth into an angel.  “I punished him for trapping me in the holy oil.  For rebelling against me.”  Castiel spoke each word slowly and carefully, as though they were being dragged out of him.  “How did I punish him?  I—” Castiel stopped.  There were no words to describe what he had done, but he tried so that Sam could see that it had been a perfectly reasonable rebuke. “Dean defied me and so I… reshaped him. Made him understand his place.”  Castiel's mouth was running without supervision now as his mind scrambled to deal with the emotions his words were causing within him.  It was good, it had been the right thing to do.  It was hideous, and he was unworthy of the trust Dean had placed in him. Castiel sighed in confusion and rested his cheek on  Dean’s shoulder. “Dean does not mind. He is devoted to me, and safe, and I will take care of him. It was for the best.”

Castiel had ignored Dean and his silence only continued Dean’s fear that he had not been forgiven.  But he heard Castiel’s words, heard them with agreement.  That’s right.  This was better.  Why would he mind?  What was there to mind?  Castiel had fixed him.  He had been broken before, cynical and lonely and lost, and not even Cas had been able to make it better, not completely.  But now, as long as he was with Castiel, everything would be right.  Everything would be okay.  He was safe, taken care of, treasured.  “Thank you,” he said, clearly now.  Everyone went silent for a moment.

“That’s just sick,” Clem said, and the kids murmured their assent.

Castiel's eyes flashed angrily up at her.  “This is not your concern,” he hissed, tightening his arms around Dean and kissing the side of his neck without breaking eye contact with Clem.  Dean made a tiny noise of pleasure and leaned into Castiel, and the angel smiled into Dean's skin.

“Cas... how could you think that was what Dean wanted?”  Sam's voice was strained and disbelieving.  “You messed with his head without permission.  You—”  Sam gazed helplessly at his brother, who was melting into Cas’s arms.  “Dean, come on man.  Are you saying you want this?  Over who you were?”

Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion.  Sam was distracting him from Castiel.  He blinked over his shoulder at his brother, trying to understand what his brother was saying.  “Why are you saying that?” he demanded of his brother.  “You don’t know what I want.  I want Castiel.  I want him happy.  That’s what matters.”  It did.  It mattered more than Dean mattered.  Dean was insignificant.  He remembered that lesson.  He was a speck.  Castiel was everything.  Sam’s lack of understanding was beyond Dean’s patience.  “I don’t understand why you don’t want me to be happy, Sam.  I didn’t used to be happy, now I am.”  He choked out the last words a little bit, and it made him angry.  They would think that he was lying if he sounded like that.  “I am happy,” he repeated, more forcefully.

Sam wanted to grab his brother and shake him until his brain snapped back into place from wherever the hell it was now.  He took a few deep breaths to calm himself.  Obviously Dean wasn't going to get out of this on his own.  Which meant that before Dean could get better, they had to fix Cas.

“Okay.”  Sam sighed.  He wasn’t accepting Dean’s words, not by a long shot, but he was acknowledging that he couldn’t deal with them right now.  “This is not an argument we're going to have.  Cas, you've been wearing the hex bag for a few minutes now.  Notice anything different?”

“Yes…” the angel replied hesitantly.  “My Grace stopped growing in power.  And my thoughts are more confused than they have been.”  He shifted, and if Sam didn’t know better he would have said Cas was nervous.  

Sam nodded. “Okay, that fits the theory that this is a spell.  But… how did you even get hexed?  And why do Clem and Dean just get dreams?”

“Is it—”  Clem hesitated, but Sam nodded encouragingly and she continued uncertainty.  “I mean, what if it’s something for supernatural creatures?  And cause Dean and I are human, it doesn’t really work on us?”

“But why would whoever did this go after you in the first place?”

Keith frowned and crossed his arms.  “Everything’s been pretty screwy up here,” he said, glancing at Dean.  “Or at least, that’s what Dean told us.  All these monsters have been popping up out of nowhere and just devastating everything.  He said they’re more powerful than they should be, more numerous for such a tiny area.  And Dean said…”  He looked at Dean again, as if hoping that the hunter would continue, but Dean didn’t even look at him.  “Dean said that it seemed like it was spreading.  More and more crazy powerful monsters over a larger and larger area.  So maybe it’s not targeted.”  

“What, like a virus?” Jenny demanded.  “Is that even something that can happen?”  

All the kids looked at Sam now, waiting for an answer.  

“I don’t know.” It was frustrating that, after doing this literally his whole life, things like this could happen that would take same completely by surprise.  “I know ghosts can do something like that, and there’s the Croatoan virus that makes people crazy, but… I never heard of a spell that works like a disease.” The thought of someone being able to do whatever this was to monsters made Sam shiver. Worse, it seemed like there was no control element.  It just made the monsters crazy  and then left them to wreak havoc.

“Croatoan?” Keith asked.  “Like… Roanoke?”  

“Yeah, pretty much.  You really don’t want get into that right now though, trust me.”

“And this is definitely not the ghost thing or the Croatoan thing?” Jenny asked.  

“Yeah, definitely,” Sam said.  

“So?  What do we do about it?” Clem's voice was slightly desperate.

“Well, if he can and is willing, Cas could probably trace the magic and find out where the spell started.”  Sam glanced at Cas, who nodded slightly.

“I am capable of tracing magic, yes,” the angel admitted, “but I would need a connection first.  One of the nightmares to follow back to their source.”

Clem crossed her arms across her chest.  “Well, I’m not letting that guy watch my nightmares.  He already snooped around in my head once, and he’s damn well not doing it again.  I don’t trust him.”

Dean bristled and glared at Clem because her tone was so painfully blasphemous.  And it bothered him that Castiel might choose to enter someone else’s mind, that he somehow might not be good enough for Castiel to use. Although he shouldn’t mind if that was Castiel’s will.  Of course, if Castiel did choose the girl, Dean wouldn’t have to have the dream again, the nightmare that rattled him so thoroughly.  Dean’s eyes flitted uncertainly from Castiel to Clem to Sam.

Castiel could feel Dean's apprehension, and he started rubbing Dean's back in soothing circles.  “I would not wish to go into your mind anyway,” he calmly informed the girl.  “To enter someone's dreams can be very… intimate.”  His hand stilled on Dean's back for just a fraction of a second.

Sam’s jaw tightened.  “Well, it isn't going to be tonight,” he growled, trying to keep his temper in check.  “If Dean does agree to do this it's going to be quick, strictly business.” His tone brooked no argument.  Sam looked at his brother then, who was watching the proceedings nervously from the circle of Cas’s arms.  “Do you think you can do it Dean? If you can stand having the nightmare one more time, we can make it go away forever.  Sound good?”

Dean froze slightly, but only for an instant, then the gentle motion of Castiel’s hand on his back relaxed him.   “Only if Castiel is with me the whole time,” he said.  “Next to me, Sam, I mean it.”  He was sure that Sam would want to keep Castiel as far from him as possible, and that wasn’t acceptable.  Not if he was going to go through that hell again.

Sam hesitated.  He really, really did not want Cas even in the same room as Dean, much less in the same bed, which he figured was what Dean meant.  Then he sighed.  What did it matter anyway?  The whole point of this was so that Cas could mess around in Dean's head again, which was a hell of a lot worse than anything physical the angel might try.

“Fine,” he grumbled, hoping he wouldn't regret this later. “But I'm staying with you in case anything weird happens.  And Cas, that hex bag stays on at all times, you hear me?”  If the magic was getting into Cas through his Grace, it was doubly important to make sure the angel didn't get too pumped up.  

Castiel's brow furrowed in irritation as Sam flat out ordered him to keep the spelled pouch on.  He didn’t like the way it confused him, bringing thoughts and memories to the surface that he didn't want or need.  But at the same time he felt a vague sense of relief that Sam had stopped being outright threatening and started accepting that Castiel only wanted what was best for Dean, just like Sam did.  After an approving glance down at Dean for his insistence that Castiel stay, the angel gave a single sharp nod.  “Very well, Sam, I agree to your terms.”

Sam dropped his eyes from Cas and headed for the door. “All right, don’t go anywhere. I've got tea in my bag that will help Dean sleep.”  It occurred to him that leaving Dean and Cas  together, even with the kids there, might not be the best idea.  Before he could say anything else, though, Cas spoke up.

“That won't be necessary, Sam,” Castiel replied.  “I can easily put Dean to sleep myself. Now, in fact.”  The sooner they stopped Dean’s nightmares and solved whatever Sam thought was wrong, the sooner Castiel and his hunter could be left in peace.

“Now?”  Dean gasped.  He knew he shouldn’t argue, but he couldn’t stop himself; the thought of the dream, especially after the reprieve of last night, was paralyzing.  “Can’t we wait?”

Ignoring the hunter’s protest, Castiel led Dean over to the bed and pushed him down on it gently. “Don’t worry, Dean.  I will be right here with you the entire time,” he assured Dean. “Now go to sleep, and dream.” Castiel pressed his hand to Dean’s cheek and his Grace to Dean’s mind, forcing the hunter into the realms of sleep.

This was not okay.  Dean wasn’t ready, he wasn’t even lying down, he was just sitting there and everyone was looking at him, the kids were looking at him and Sam was looking at him and Castiel was right there in front of him, staring with those still, blue eyes.  He grasped at Castiel as the world started to swim, desperate for another moment, forcing his lethargic mouth to say, “No, please, I can’t, I’m—” _scared_.  Terrified.  This was not what he wanted, he wanted more comfort than a few words, he couldn’t stand this, but then the dream loomed over his consciousness again and he sank into it, frantically trying to pull himself out.  It was hopeless, though; the compulsion to sleep was too strong, and he was overwhelmed.  

Sam bit the inside of his cheek as he watched Dean fall asleep sitting up, in the middle of a terrified plea, just because Cas had told him to.  It was so wrong the Cas should have that kind of power over Dean, that he should use it so casually as if he were entitled to do anything he wanted to with Dean.  The angel lowered Dean gently to the bed and looked up at Sam with curious eyes.  “You seem angered,” he commented.

“Yeah, no shit!” Sam wanted to yell.  “You're mojo-ing my brother left and right like he's just a thing that belongs to you, not a person.  And you did something to him that makes him think that’s totally fine!”  But he couldn’t, so he just answered very quietly, “I’m worried about Dean. And you,” he added after a moment.  “Can you track the magic or not?”

Castiel turned away from Sam, pushing the younger Winchester's strange behavior from his mind as he felt Dean's nightmare beginning.  The important part was maintaining dream contact for long enough for Castiel's Grace to search out the foreign influence and follow it back.  If he tried to change the dream in any way the link might break, so Castiel just hung back and watched his dream-self work.  There was still a large part of him that was fascinated by the dream, that wanted to take Dean away and keep him forever, but there was also a small but growing insistence that Dean should never have to face the events of his nightmare.

Castiel's search uncovered the source of the magic and instantly swept Dean back to wakefulness, snatching him from the dream just as Sam arrived to confront the vengeful nightmare-angel about his brother.  Castiel felt a brief burst of gratitude that events had not turned out that way, then turned his attention to Dean.  

Dean didn’t sit up when he awoke, he just drew his legs up onto the bed with him and curled into a ball, positioning his back to the others and trying to keep his sobs invisible.  Something pricked at his cheek: a shard of glass from when Castiel had broken the window.  Before anyone could stop him, he seized it, feeling the edges slip against his fingers before he got a better grip on it and dug it into his arm, the breaking of skin a comfort.  He kept going as quickly as possible, not letting himself savor the clarity from each cut before starting a new one. Castiel had promised he’d stay with Dean.  Promised he’d be right next to him the whole time.  But he hadn’t been, not in a way that Dean could hold onto.  Not in the dream, not even in reality because there was so much _space_ between them and Dean couldn’t deal with space, he needed contact.  And the dream had been so horrible, so familiarly horrible in a way that he couldn’t pinpoint anymore, even as it sat deep in his stomach like poison.

The glass bit into his wrist again, slippery with blood, harder to hold onto.  The only relief was that he didn’t need to witness Sam and Castiel fight in the dream again this time, didn’t need to grope in the darkness for them to keep them from killing each other and listen to the thick sounds of fighting in his ears, not knowing what was happening and losing two people at once.

“Dean?”  Castiel's voice was inquisitive as the hunter curled in on himself and pulled away from him.  “What’s wrong?”  The metallic scent of blood filled the air and Castiel's tone sharpened.  “Stop that, Dean,” he ordered, reaching over Dean to tug his hands apart, once more sealing the broken flesh with a whim.  The angel continued to tug the hunter around until he was facing Sam and Castiel once more.  “It’s all right, Dean; I am here.”

It was amazing how in an instant all of Dean’s efforts at clarity, at control, could be wiped off his wrists as if they never existed.  He longed to carve them back, to feel that pain again, but Castiel had ordered him not to and so he could not.  “I was looking for you, but I couldn’t find you,” he sobbed.  “Where were you?”  Part way through the dream he had forgotten that a reality existed other than his nightmare.

“I was right here, Dean,” Castiel explained calmly.  In the background he could hear Sam ordering the others out, telling them to ‘go make breakfast or something’ and slamming the door behind them, but Castiel kept his attention focused on Dean and Dean alone.  “I could not interfere with the substance of your dream without disrupting the magic that caused it.”  Castiel bundled Dean into his lap, noticing the chill on the hunter’s skin as he did so.  The broken window.  Castiel reformed the glass with a glance, creating a fresh pane clear of enochian markings.  

Dean quieted and leaned into the angel, letting the angel’s warmth help to comfort his shaking.  He didn’t know what to do with his hands because he wasn’t allowed to harm his wrists, but Castiel had him close and so it didn’t matter.  He craned his neck to kiss Castiel’s jawline. The piece of glass was palmed into his pocket, and he hoped no one noticed.  If Castiel told him to throw it out, Dean would have to, but he didn’t want to lose his only link to clarity.

Castiel hummed contentedly and slid his hands down Dean’s arms to his wrists, rubbing his thumbs gently across the sensitive skin on the undersides.  If sensation was what Dean wanted, he could give it to him without letting his hunter come to harm.  “I hope you understand why I could not be with you.”  Castiel's voice was rough as Dean kissed his face and neck.

The feel of Castiel’s thumbs moving kindly against Dean’s wrists sent little shivers through him because the feeling was so different than the piercing of glass only a moment ago.  He wanted that touch, ached for it all over his body and he continued his kisses, pausing only to murmur, “Yes, I’m sorry,” before nuzzling against Castiel’s neck and relaxing his kisses into a softer pattern, lips parted slightly and eyes closed.

Sam turned back from herding the kids out to see his brother in Cas’s lap.  As Sam watched, Dean started to kiss up Cas’s neck in a tender, worshipful way that was more than a little disturbing.  The angel practically purred in response and started caressing Dean's arms.

Oh no.  Oh _hell_ no, this was not going to happen.

“Knock it _off_ Cas!  What part of 'no intimacy' did you have trouble with?”  Sam was trying to stay calm, but his mind just kept screaming at him that he _could not_ let this happen, because neither of them were in their right minds right now and if he let it go on it would ruin any chance of recovery for Dean and Cas’s relationship after all this.  If there even was still a chance.

Castiel managed to tear his gaze away from Dean long enough to see Sam approaching, looking downright murderous.  “That was in the dream,” he felt obliged to point out, although he was finding it very difficult to focus because Dean was sucking on his collarbone and pressing into Castiel like he wanted to melt into him.  “Besides, I am giving Dean an alternative to hurting himself.  He needs this right now, Sam.”

“No, what he _needs_ is food, because I don't think he's eaten since you flew in.”  Had it only been yesterday?  It felt like weeks.  Sam was at the bedside now, staring down at Castiel with a mixture of malice and pleading.  “Just sit with him all right?  Hold his hand or something.”  Anything, really, short of messing Dean up any further.  And honestly, at this point, they would be damn lucky if all Cas did was hold Dean’s hand.  Sam switched his attention to his brother, who had been totally oblivious to the whole conversation.  “Hey, Dean,” Sam called, resting a tentative hand on his shoulder.  “You can get back to this later,” _never_ , “but right now you've gotta get some food in you, okay?”

Dean confusedly drew his lips away from Castiel and stared at Sam.  “Huh?  No, I’m not hungry, Sam,” he said, then went back to his kisses.  It felt a little strange, though, because Sam’s hand was still on his shoulder, so he tried his best to shrug it off but Sam’s hand didn’t budge.

“Wrong answer, bud.” Sam replied, pulling on Dean's shoulder until his brother looked up at him again.  “You've gone almost 30 hours without food, assuming you actually ate breakfast when Cas got sick and didn't just chug a bottle of whiskey.  If you're not hungry it's because you've moved past that into famished.”  Sam threw a despairing look at Cas, whose eyes were slitted and suspicious.  He refused to let on how much that look scared him.  “Look man, he needs to eat unless you want him collapsing.”

Castiel continued to stare at Sam.  His reasoning was sound, but the angel still felt as though something were off.  “I can restore Dean's body if it fails.”  Even as he spoke, though, Castiel gave a resigned sigh.  Sound reasoning or not, Sam didn’t seem to be planning on backing down anytime soon.  He toyed with the idea of smiting Sam, or perhaps just trapping him somewhere far away, but the larger portion of him knew the hunter was right, so he turned his head to rest his face against Dean. “Later,” he promised the needy hunter.  “We will finish this later.”

Dean’s stomach turned at the thought of eating, of having space between him and Castiel again, and he didn’t get up, just stayed there, clinging.  “But I don’t want to eat.  I want to be with you, Castiel, please.”  Castiel had stopped moving his hands on Dean’s wrists and it bothered him in a way that he couldn’t explain.  It made him want to tug the sleeves of Sam’s flannel down and hide them and their unmarred skin.

“You can be with him.   He'll stay right next to you okay?”  Sam squeezed Dean's shoulder reassuringly.  “But it's not good for you to not eat for so long.  Come on Dean, please?” Sam wheedled.

“It’s all right, Dean.”  Castiel resumed softly rubbing Dean's wrists.  The uncertainty brought on by the hexbag was still there, and strong, and Castiel didn't know what he wanted anymore.  Part of him was desperate to have Dean again, to claim him and mark him, but part of him was alarmed by Dean's behavior and frantically trying to figure out why the hunter was acting so differently from how Castiel remembered him.

“I really don’t want any food, Sam,” Dean said, but he let his brother tug him to his feet.  He didn’t want Castiel to stop rubbing his wrists, though, and he made a soft sound of distress when his arms pulled away from Castiel’s hands.

Castiel stood quickly as Sam pulled Dean away.  He caught one of the hunter's hands in his own and continued to caress the soft skin of his wrist as Dean grudgingly followed Sam into the kitchen area, where the others were all sitting around the table.  The children all watched him with solemn, nervous eyes as they entered, and Castiel gave them an unreadable stare in return.  Sam planted Dean at the table and Castiel stood behind him resting his hands on Dean's shoulders to free the hunter's hands.  When Sam placed a bowl of cereal in front of Dean, the angel squeezed Dean's shoulders gently.  “Eat, Dean.”

“What, no pie?” Dean asked his brother, trying to smile a little bit.  Cereal.  And there wasn’t even a splash of milk in the damn bowl.  Not that that would have made a difference.

Sam couldn't help the smile that spread slowly across his face when Dean complained about there not being any pie. He never thought he'd be happier to hear his brother whining about food.

“You know, we tried to feed him,” Jenny suddenly said to Sam, crossing her arms.  “We weren’t going to let him starve, but he wouldn’t eat anything.”  

Apparently she had been eavesdropping enough to hear that Sam didn’t think Dean had eaten anything.  Dean sighed.  The kids had a bad habit of listening at doors.  He didn’t really care though, just poked at the cereal with a plastic spoon.  

Because Castiel had told him too, Dean took one spoonful of the dry cereal and put it in his mouth, chewed it to dust that stuck to his tongue, and swallowed.  Then he put the spoon down and fiddled with the edge of his sleeve.

“Eavesdropping? Really?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

“Well what else are we supposed to do?” Jenny snapped. “We came here and locked ourselves in so that _he_ wouldn't find us and kill us all.”  She jerked a finger at Cas, who was watching the exchange warily, fingers still curled over Dean's shoulders.  “And then Dean let him in anyway but _apparently_ all he wants to do is bang him, so I guess we're safe for now. But this was so not what I signed up for!” Sam glanced at the others and saw similar emotions reflected in their eyes.  He gave a heavy sigh.

“Look, I know you didn't want to get all mixed up in this—”

“Damn straight!” Andy interrupted, and Sam glared at him.

“—and I'm sorry you did. But look, I'm here to take care of Dean now, so if you want to leave, you can.”  All four of them blinked back at him in surprise. “I mean it.  Get back in whoever's car you came in and head back to school.  Forget this happened.  Come back in a few days and it'll all be gone.”  Sam's eyes drifted to the scarlet paint decorating the walls.  “Well, mostly gone.”

“We can't just leave!” Clem protested, and Sam fixed her with a flat, unwavering gaze.

“Why not?” he challenged. “This is what hunting's like, boys and girls, and it's not Buffy or some stupid ghost hunting show, it's not being prepared for everything and winning all the fights.  A lot of the time it's being scared and confused and hurt and having no idea what to do next.  And it's not for everyone.  Clear out now before you really get hurt.” On the last word Sam's eyes slid over to Dean almost of their own volition, and he sighed again. Damn. He hadn't meant to give the kids a lecture, really.

“They know that, Sam,” Dean said as he tried to figure out where he could dump the cereal without anyone noticing that he hadn’t eaten more than his first spoonful.  “They don’t need to hear you say it, so give it a rest.”  He sighed.  “Besides, you need help.  Can’t go hunting a witch when you want to babysit me all the time.”

“Well maybe if you didn't need babysitting,” Sam retorted, something inside him loosening up as he turned to see Dean hastily replace the cereal bowl on the table after an unsuccessful attempt to surreptitiously empty the dry flakes on the floor. “Smooth.” He observed sarcastically, unable to keep the small grin from his face.

“I _don’t_ need babysitting,” Dean said, kicking the cereal lightly with his foot so it wasn’t in a pile even though everyone had seen him dump it there.  He wasn’t even embarrassed, he just hoped they wouldn’t make him eat more.  He felt kind of queasy.

Castiel watched Dean and Sam banter and felt something warm inside his chest. This was how it was supposed to be for the brothers.  And yet… a fierce spike of jealousy coiled in him. Dean was paying attention to Sam, to the children, to people who weren't Castiel. And that was not acceptable. The angel's hands tightened on Dean's shoulders, reminding the hunter of his presence. Almost instantly Castiel loosened his grip, guilt swirling through him. If Dean was happy, Castiel should not begrudge him that.  The angel closed his eyes to hide his confusion.

When Castiel’s hands clamped on his shoulders, Dean started slightly, looking up at the angel, who lessened his hold on him.  Not quickly enough to stop the instant shame that grew hot in his stomach.  He should be talking to Castiel, not Sam.  He put a hand over the angel’s in apology and then held completely still.

Sam cringed inwardly as he watched Cas reclaim Dean's attention with nothing but a squeeze of his hands.  Cas had been so compliant that Sam thought he was going to give Dean a break, relatively speaking, but apparently that wasn’t the case.  Sure, the hex bag seemed to be helping him, which Sam was infinitely grateful for since he had only been guessing that it would work that way.  But the angel was still dangerous and still bad for Dean, and Sam had stupidly let himself forget that because of one reasonable exchange.

“So,” Sam said, probably too loudly, but he didn’t like the way Dean had stilled under Cas’s hands like a dog expecting a treat.  “Cas, you said you knew where this magic was coming from, didn't you?  Can you take me there?”  His attempt to distract the angel worked, and Cas opened his eyes and blinked owlishly at Sam.

Castiel was starting to feel ill as the different urges and impulses inside of him clashed against each other. Dean's gentle touch on his hand didn't help, as it raised a whole new mess of emotions, ranging from pleasure to fear and back again. Sam's words jolted him from his introspection and he looked up to see the younger Winchester leaned against the counter, studying Castiel with narrow eyes. It took Castiel a moment to follow the question, and another to think of the answer.

“Yes, I know the location of the source of the spell.  But I do not wish to leave Dean's side.”  That was one thing his whole mind agreed on.  He turned his hand in Dean's and began rubbing the hunter's wrist again comfortingly.

The contact to his wrist was soothing, and Dean relaxed in his chair, closing his eyes and feeling the little tremors in his nerves from Castiel’s fingers moving over his delicate skin, pressing against tendon and blood vessel.  His nausea and nervousness lessened.  “I can come too,” he said.  “I can help.”  He flicked his eyes back open to look at his brother.

“I don't know if that's a good idea…”  Sam shook his head.  “If there's a fight, are you gonna be able to defend yourself?  You haven't been, um, up to your usual standards.”

“I will protect Dean.”  Castiel's voice held a faint anger that reminded Sam of the distant thunderstorms he'd encountered while driving through the open spaces in the Midwest.  They seemed a safe enough distance away, and the next minute you were pulled over at the side of the road as it washed away under the deluge and praying lightning didn’t hit your car.  Cas wasn't threatening Sam yet, but that could change so easily.  

“Fine,” Sam sighed, raising his hands in surrender.

“And what are we supposed to do?” Jenny asked.  “Should we come with you?”  She didn’t sound thrilled by the prospect, but she kept her head high and eyes focused unblinkingly on Sam.  

The hunter thought for a moment before shaking his head.  “No, it’ll be too many people. And we don’t know what this is, and I’m not taking a bunch of half-trained kids into something this potentially dangerous.  No offense.”  Jenny shrugged.  “Besides, I think we'll be traveling angel airlines, and that can be disorienting for new people.”  He smiled briefly at the others, trying to reassure them.  “But can you guys stay here and clean up the place?  We probably won’t be squatting here much longer.”  And they didn’t need the angel-proofing anymore, not now that Cas was already inside.

Castiel was glad Sam had refused the children, because he certainly would not have consented to cart them all around with him.  Now he squeezed Dean's hand lightly and stepped back so his hunter could push out his chair and stand.  “If you are ready, we can leave now,” Castiel informed Sam, leading Dean around the table to where his brother leaned on the counter.  “I would rather free Dean from these dreams as soon as possible.”  After all, Dean's nightmares made him fear Castiel, and the angel didn’t want that; all of his fragmented memories from before regaining his Grace convinced him that Dean shouldn’t be afraid. And since it seemed as though the dreams could only be completely banished by destroying the source, Sam and Castiel had a common goal.

“Wait,” said Dean.  “I haven’t got any weapons or anything.” He tried to think of what he might need, but he couldn’t really remember.  He didn’t really know what they were facing, even.  A witch?  Right.  Things to know about witches: they sucked.  Black magic?  Long lives sometimes?  Powers from demons?  He sighed because it was all so hazy.  He wanted to hurt his wrist again for a moment of clarity, but Castiel was still holding his hand.  And Castiel had told him not to.  “Sam, could you,” he started, wavered, hoping Sam wouldn’t notice that he wasn’t really sure what he was doing, “get the stuff together?”

Sam blinked in surprise, then relief.  Dean was thinking at least, more than Sam at any rate.  He had to focus or they were going to end up in serious trouble.  “Yeah, my bag is by the front door.  Come on.”

“Wait!”  At the sound of her voice, Sam turned to Clem, who was standing with her arms crossed defiantly across her chest.  “I want to come. Whatever this is it's in my head too, and I want to help get rid of it.”  Sam hesitated, but it was Cas who spoke first.

“I do not wish for you to accompany us.”  Castiel's voice was flat and hard.  He would tolerate the girl's presence, for Dean, but he did not want her with them, and he did not want to waste the Grace it would take to carry her.  Although it was tempting to pretend she slipped out of his hold mid-flight…  Sam's voice interrupted the angel's thoughts, and Castiel looked up to see Sam watching him.

“Cas, come on, she has a point.  This is her problem too.”  Sam's neck prickled uneasily as he watched Cas’s face, wondering what the angel was thinking.  He still hadn't let go of Dean's hand.  “Please, Cas.”

Castiel tilted his head at the word ‘please’ and studied Sam.  It was unlike the hunter to ask Castiel for anything, and he felt a rush of satisfaction that Sam was acknowledging Castiel's power in this situation.  And after all, if he brought the girl and she proved to be trouble, he could always remove her later.  “Very well,” he finally replied, allowing Sam to brush past him and lead Dean to the front room.  The girl followed behind.

Dean paused when he saw the bag.  It wasn’t his, but it was clearly full of stuff for hunters and was vaguely familiar.  Sam’s bag.  But Sam wasn’t supposed to have a bag full of hunting things, he remembered.  “Where did you get all this stuff?” he asked slowly.  His hand shook slightly in Castiel’s. Dammit.  Sam had been out except apparently not, apparently he’d just lied.  Sam didn’t trust him.  And it hurt, deep in his chest, visceral and physical, making his muscles tense.  He didn’t like the way it hurt him, and he felt a swell of anger that he didn’t quite understand.  He could remember getting angry before, he thought.  Yelling at Sam for things.  But he’d been so desperate to please his brother, and Castiel, that the emotion felt almost strange.  

“Yeah, well.  No sense in throwing out perfectly good supplies, right?” Sam watched his brother's face carefully. Crap, he had forgotten that Dean was lucid enough to care about this now. “Can we talk about it once this is all over?”

Castiel could feel Dean trembling, and he raised his other hand to press between his hunter’s shoulders comfortingly.  He was angry with Sam for upsetting Dean, even if he wasn’t entirely sure why Dean was unhappy.  The angel sent a soft wave of comforting Grace through Dean, easing the tension from his muscles.  Castiel was here now, so Dean's mind need not be troubled.

“No, Sam, we can’t… I…”  Dean tried to yell, to somehow transmit his internal fury and confusion into something Sam would recognize, but suddenly he couldn’t find the words.  Dean’s train of thought faded, the hurt in his chest lessened, and he relaxed, feeling Castiel’s hand comforting between his shoulder blades.  He was happy, calm, comfortable, and when Castiel removed his hand from his back, he snuggled up against the angel and closed his eyes.  A moment later he heard Sam start rummaging in the bag, but he didn’t remember why he had been upset before.

Sam saw Cas put his free hand on Dean's back, watched his brother relax, and bit his tongue to keep from yelling at Cas.  It was okay for Dean to be angry!  Sam almost wanted his brother be annoyed, or frustrated, or pissed off.  Anything to keep Dean from falling back into that mindless worshipfulness that Cas had forced on him.

“Here.”  Sam stood up and roughly shoved a gun at his brother, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach as Dean curled into Cas, all his anger forgotten.  He pulled another handgun out of the bag, glared at Cas, and shook his head.  “Not like you'd even need one.  Here, Clem.  You know how to use it? It's just got regular bullets.  There isn't much special that you can do about witches.”

“Yeah, Dean taught me,” was her quiet reply.  She looked just as uncomfortable as Sam about Cas’s treatment of Dean, which made Sam feel a little better.  At least he had another sensible person on his side if things went bad.

“Okay, remember, we’re going in to look not touch, all right?  I don't want to start any fights unless there's no other choice.  And Clem, you've never been flown anywhere before, so this might be uncomfortable.  Dean always gets sick.”  Sam walked over and stood next to the younger girl, taking her free hand and squeezing it reassuringly.  She looked up at him with scared, determined eyes and nodded once.  Sam turned to the angel and took a deep breath.  “Ready when you are, Cas.”

Castiel wordlessly wrapped one arm tighter around Dean and reached out to place two fingers on Sam's forehead.  Careful to include the girl as well, because losing her might upset Sam and by extension Dean, Castiel launched their little group into the space between, instantly transporting them to the origin point of the dreams.  


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2014! Remember, hoard your toilet paper. Hoard it like it's gold. Because it is.

**Chapter 11**

**“Mama always told me not to look into the sights of the sun.  Oh but Mama, that’s where the fun is.”  
** **~ _Blinded By the Light_ , Bruce Springsteen**

 

Dean hated flying, but the calm Castiel had instilled in him a few moments ago kept him comfortable, as did Castiel’s arm around him.  A moment later they were standing in the middle of someone’s living room.  It was quiet, but a fire was burning in the hearth.  The walls were covered with a horrid, florid wallpaper, which was partially covered by a series of landscape portraits.  The furniture had all been pushed to the edges of the walls to make space for a circular table covered with old books, bowls of unidentifiable ingredients, and other paraphernalia whose uses escaped Dean.  In the center was a larger bowl, engraved with strange runes and emitting a soft golden light and a trail of silvery smoke.  Dean pressed closer to Castiel, but Sam took a cautious step forward.

“Well, at least we know we're in the right spot,” Sam muttered, eyes darting all over the room to check for any possible threats.  Behind him he heard a soft gasp, and he turned to see Clem swaying on her feet, eyes wide and face pale.  “Whoa, easy Clem.”  Sam put a steadying hand on her shoulder.  “I know, it's a little disorienting.  Just take a few deep breaths—”

“I've been here before,”Clem breathed, cutting Sam off mid-sentence.

“What?”

“This is Professor Johnson's house,” Clem explained vacantly, eyes slightly glassy as she tried and failed to comprehend what was going on.  “I sat right on that couch—” she pointed to a sofa in the corner of the room “—and drank a mug of chamomile tea.”  She blinked a few times, seeming to come back to herself.  “Does this mean the professor is the one giving us these dreams?  Why would he do that?  I don't understand!”

Sam squeezed Clem's shoulder reassuringly. “It’s all right, Clem, we'll figure this out.  Just stay calm, okay?”

Castiel barely noticed the exchange; his attention was focused almost entirely on the spell.  It pulsed slightly and his Grace stirred in time, growing despite the charm around his neck.  Yes, this was good.  Sighing, the angel let his head fall back and eyes flutter almost closed.  This power belonged in him, and Dean belonged by his side.  He pressed the hunter closer to him.  

A woman's nearby voice rose sharply, fear in her tone, and Castiel's eyes snapped open.  That was right, he had been convinced to bring that girl along too.  But she was unnecessary, a nuisance, possibly a threat.  Why had he not just killed her in the first place?  Sam's soft tenor followed the girl's voice, calming her, and Castiel's frown deepened.  Sam was here as well, of course.  Castiel briefly considered just taking Dean away and leaving the others stranded, but he was loath to leave this room that made his Grace whisper so happily.  Instead he tilted Dean's chin up with one hand and kissed his hunter hard.

Dean gasped a little when Castiel kissed him suddenly, but he relished the contact, Castiel’s rough lips leaving him breathless.  The world around him seemed to fade into the background and he dropped the handgun Sam had given him, but he didn’t hear it hit the floor.  He was much more concerned with Castiel’s hands riding up the back of his shirt, though their roughness filled his stomach with nervousness.

Sam heard the thump and turned to see Dean and Cas way too close, the angel practically taking Dean's shirt off without breaking their deep kiss.  “What the hell?” he yelled.  Sam had thought they were relatively under control, and yet… “Dammit, Cas, you said you were gonna wait!”

Castiel broke the kiss to glare at Sam, although his hands never stopped their exploration of Dean's torso.  “I changed my mind,” he growled, Grace roaring in his ears.  Dean made a small noise of need and Castiel bent to claim his mouth again, shutting out Sam and the girl.

Sam froze when Cas glanced at him, because the angel looked positively feral, like he had when he peered through the window before.  At least his irises were still blue, his constricted pupils black.  But the malice of that white stare was there, muted but growing.  Sam glanced towards the spell on the table and swallowed hard.  Was this some sort of proximity thing, where bringing Cas right to the source made it worse?  If it was, they were in deep trouble.

He grabbed Clem’s hand, tugging her over so he could whisper in her ear.  “You have to upset the spell. Get to the table and mess things up, dump the bowl if you can, do something.  Just don’t let him notice what you’re doing.”  He gave her a little shove in the direction of the room's center and then turned his attention back to Cas, who was ignoring him again.  With shaking fingers he grasped the hilt of the angel blade, once more hidden in his coat.  

“Cas come on, this isn’t you!” he called, shifting farther from the table in an attempt to draw the angel's attention away from Clem's careful progress.  “Dean, snap out of it, don’t let him do this to you!  Come on, man, fight it!”

Dean pulled his lips away from Castiel for a moment to stare at his brother, but Castiel growled predatorily and Dean quickly melted back into him.  This was the way it should be.  Sam’s protests were preposterous.  Dean was happy.  Castiel wasn’t doing anything except being good to him.  There was nothing to fight.

For some reason that conclusion seemed wrong, but Dean didn’t have time to ponder it because a strange voice sounded from the side of the room.

“Well, well.  What have we here?”

Dean broke away from Castiel to look at the man who had just walked into the room.  He was wearing corduroy slacks and a button-up shirt, and he had a scruffy beard and mussed brown hair.  His eyes were pitch black.  Some part of Dean went on red alert, and he automatically glanced around to see if there was an available weapon.  Then Castiel dug his fingers into Dean’s hips, and the man forgot what he was looking for.  Demons weren't important right now.  He had Castiel.

Shit.  Sam spun to face the man, but before he could say a word Clem gasped.  

“Professor? No!”

The man turned sharply to face Clem, and smiled.  It was not a pleasant smile.

“Ah yes, Clem.  I’ve had my eye on your little study group for a while.  Not very good hunters, obviously, or you’d have found me out weeks ago.  And then I would have gotten to kill you sooner.”

“Sam,”  Clem said cautiously, backpedaling to his side again.  She saw him drop his gun in favor of the demon knife and paled.  “Wait, we can’t kill him; what if the Professor’s still in there?”

Just then, Sam was a little more concerned with how the two of them were going to get out of this alive than some professor he’d never met—Dean he knew Cas would protect.  “Cas?”  he called without much hope.  “A little help here?”  The angel didn't even glance at him, and the demon laughed.

“Are you serious?  We caught an angel  in this?  Didn’t realize it would work on something that strong.  Looks like your backup doesn’t have your back, hunter.”  He took a threatening step forwards, and Sam grimaced.  The demon was right.  He and Clem were on their own here.  

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” Sam muttered, backing away from the demon and herding Clem behind him.  He didn’t get any farther though, because the demon was suddenly in his face, one hand wrapped around his throat and the other trapping the demon knife at Sam's side.  When Clem tried to attack, the demon just turned its head slightly and Clem flew across the room with a yell, smacking hard into the wall and dropping down behind the sofa.

Sam struggled, trying to gasp out a few more snippets of Latin, but there wasn’t enough air.  Dean and Cas were standing literally feet from him, and neither of them seemed to be aware that he was in danger.  Over the demon's shoulder, he saw Clem struggling over the back of the sofa, gun in hand.  She trained it on the demon, even though she had to know it would do her no good.  Then, deliberately and carefully, she pointed it at Dean and Cas.

“Clem, what—”  Sam wheezed, but she had already sighted, pulled the trigger, and ducked back down again.  

One minute Dean was feeling Castiel’s attentions, and the next there was a crack of noise and pain radiating through his left leg.  He fell to the ground, screaming, hands automatically finding the bullet wound.  The shot had not been clean, and his tibia was cracked, agonizing spikes of pain pulsing from the wound along with the blood.  An instant later he remembered Castiel, and Dean groped for the angel’s feet with bloody fingers.  Castiel wanted him, and that was far more important than the bullet in his leg.  He stared up at the angel through watering eyes, biting his lip to keep from crying and silently begging the angel to forgive him for not being able to stand. 

Castiel hardly noticed the sound of the gun, too enamoured by his Grace and Dean. He did notice when his hunter crumpled beneath him, crying out.  Castiel stared for a moment, then whipped his head around.  The girl was gone.  Sam was nearly unconscious, and there was a demon wrestling with him and seemingly unaware of Castiel’s presence.  The only guns visible were by Dean’s side and on the floor beside the struggling pair.  Castiel doubted Sam would have shot his own brother, which left only one ready option.  

The very air around the angel stilled as his anger rose, a chill radiating out from his skin.  A fierce flash of pain over his heart made him glance down to see smoke rising from the pouch around his neck as the charm fought the internal force of his Grace.  Dean's hex bag.   In one quick movement Castiel knelt by his hunter, pulling the leather band of the charm over his head and slipping it over Dean's.

“All shall be well, Dean,” he whispered, his voice echoing partially out of the range of human hearing.  Resting a hand on Dean’s leg, Castiel mended his splintered bone and healed the torn flesh.  The smashed bullet rolled away as Castiel lifted his hunter and kissed him slowly, savoring the taste of Dean's tears on his lips.  Then he let Dean down and stood again.  Without the hex bag to tamp his power down, the Grace rushed through him, filling him, whiting out almost every rational thought.  The angel's Grace-bleached eyes fixed on the demon responsible for harming his hunter, and his lips pulled back from his mouth in a snarl. Glass broke and furniture trembled, and the demon dropped Sam and backed away, eyes wide.  

“Wait,” it hissed.  “I didn’t do anything! This isn’t supposed to happen!”  Castiel stepped forward, ignoring its words and its retreat.  There was nowhere for it to hide from him.

When the pain faded, Dean could see Castiel above him, so strong, so beautiful, Grace around him making the hairs on Dean’s arms stand on end, the brightness making his eyes smart, tears leaking through the corners because of the brightness.  The angel moved forward, the light from his form intensifying, and Dean knew that Castiel’s true form was about to shine through.  His heart leapt with joy, and he knew that he couldn’t blink; he had to bear witness.  The light was growing blinding, but it was rapturously beautiful.

Then, he was overwhelmed by terror because this was the monster  from his nightmare that had left him trembling and crying when he woke even when he had been at his strongest.  His limbs went weak but his gaze still riveted to the angel.  It was all going to come true.  A deep pain grew in the center of his corneas and Dean knew that soon, very soon, his eyes would be ablaze and this would be the last thing he would see, the angel before him, full of light and power and horror.

But that was the way it was supposed to be, and Dean was happy to have Castiel’s true form be the last thing he’d ever see.  Any other sight would be worthless without it.  What need did he have for seeing his brother’s face, or the Impala, or the road ahead, or the picture of his mother and father that he kept in his wallet?  Or even Castiel’s holy tax-accountant vessel?  The vessel was a lie, a disguise for what Castiel really was.  Dean needed to see Castiel’s true form, to worship and adore, to feel his soul purify even at the expense of his body.

No, he couldn’t; he was too afraid, and the fear was like a toxin in him, crippling and weakening him.  He knew what would happen.  He would be blind and lost but Castiel would care for him, though not before destroying Sam and the others.  The screams that had played in his nightmares slashed through his ears.  He could see Clem and the others dead where he’d found them before Castiel’s true form had burned away his eyes and rendered him next to nothing.  He couldn’t let that happen.  He should run, he should hide his face, he should grab his brother and the girl and get them the hell out of there.  He had to protect Sam.  He was Dean Winchester, goddamn it, and he wasn’t going to let this happen.  He wasn’t.  He couldn’t.

But he knelt there, looking up at the angel, face shining with awe and streaked with tears, eyes wide.

Sam could feel it on his skin the instant Cas took off his hex bag.  The very air seemed electrified, and the angel was glowing with an unearthly light that made Sam want to cower before him.  Still, he couldn’t help but watch as Cas walked towards the demon, the angel only getting brighter and brighter with each step.  The angel's movements were noiseless, but the absence of sound was deafening, pressing against Sam’s ears. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes, and he jerked his head away.  He knew what would happen if any of them saw Cas’s true form. Pamela's empty eyes stared warningly out of his memories, but he carefully opened his eyes again, squinting against the light as he tried to find Clem.  The girl was peering over the back of the sofa at Cas, eyes wide, and Sam had to shout to be heard over the emptiness.

“Get down!”  Clem blinked at him once and then her eyes slid back to Cas, so Sam yelled again.  “Listen to me, Clem! Cover your eyes and don't look up, whatever you do!”  This time, she stared at Sam for a moment before ducking back behind the couch as Sam instructed.

 _Dean…_ Sam stared frantically around for his brother, squinting against the now painful radiance.  When he found Dean, Sam’s heart leapt into his throat and died there.  His brother was kneeling only a few feet from Cas, hands limp in front of him and head thrown back, eyes wide with wonder as he stared unblinkingly into the heart of the angel.  

“Dean, no, look away!” Sam screamed, but his brother didn't seem to hear him, and Sam could see the sun reflected in Dean’s eyes.  A bloody tear ran down Dean's nose but he didn't flinch, didn’t blink.  It was as though he had been turned to a statue, meant for the sole purpose of bearing witness to this moment.  Sam shook off the thought and scrambled across the floor to his brother, cursing as the light overwhelmed him and began to burn inside his skull.   _Close your eyes!_ his mind screamed, but if Sam closed his eyes how would he see Dean to save him?  Sam was crying and he wasn't sure if it was tears or blood that streaked his face, but he didn’t care.  Only a few more feet.

There was a feeling of loss, as though all the air in the room had been sucked past Sam towards the angel, and he faltered.  Dean's lips parted, curved into a soft, wondering smile, and the shapes reflected in his eyes made Sam want to turn and watch too.

“No!” Sam cried, even though no one could hear him, and flung himself on top of Dean.  Dean fell to the side and Sam felt something pop in his brother's knee as he took Sam's full weight on top of him, but that didn’t matter.  Sam tugged Dean's face into his shoulder, squeezing his own eyes shut and burying his face in the floor as a wave of heat and Grace swept over them, frying the air in the room like the aftershock of a lightning bolt.

Dean wasn’t sure what happened, but somehow he was lying on the ground with his brother on top of him, Sam’s hand on the back of his head and pressing his eyes into his shoulder.  Protecting him.  Fear overtook his awe now, and he grabbed a fistful of the back of Sam’s shirt just to ground himself.  He muttered words that he could not hear, words he could not even feel on his lips, words whose meaning he was unsure of, but he said them over and over and over into the soft flannel that was suffocating and saving him.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Castiel’s true form shone out, and before the demon in front of him could even think about fighting back or fleeing, it was dead, immolated from the inside out so that nothing remained but empty skin stretched over charred bones.  When the body fell, it collapsed gently to the floor, a paper doll with no substance.  Castiel hummed, pleased, and the light slowly faded, drawing back into him.  But unlike before, when he might have needed time to replenish his Grace, he remained strong, full of power, in control.  It was because he was so close to the source of this magic, he knew, and he was glad of it.  He never wanted to leave it; they could stay here, him and Dean, stay forever so that Castiel would never be powerless again.  

The thought of Dean made the angel frown.  Part of him wished the hunter had seen him as he truly was, and part of him hoped that Dean had been spared the heavy price of pain that went with the knowledge.  Castiel heard whimpering and turned to behold a sight that made his blood run first cold, then hot with rage.  His hunter was pinned to the floor by the other man, and Castiel saw Dean's hands clenched in the fabric of the man's shirt.  Dean was thanking him for something, and Castiel's wrath grew.  Dean should thank no one, should owe no one, except Castiel.  The angel raised a hand and dragged the interloper off of Dean, flinging him into a wall.

“Dean, come to me.”  The words were an order, not a suggestion, and Castiel waited patiently for Dean to follow it.

Sam barely had time to register that the radiance had dissipated before he felt himself lifted by an invisible force and thrown across the room.  He hit the wall face-first and landed dazed on a pile of discarded chairs from the table.  A gush of heat down his face told Sam that whatever else may be wrong with him, a nosebleed had been added to the list.  He looked up to see Cas standing a few feet from Dean, telling him to get up.

“You can't!” Sam choked out, even as his brain screamed at him to just shut up.  “His leg is hurt!”  Cas didn't even glance at him, but Sam suddenly felt an invisible weight on his chest, pressing him down and making it almost impossible to breathe, let alone talk.  Thankfully, the angel had stopped glowing by now, but his eyes still showed a pearly white all the way through.   Clem was nowhere to be seen, and Sam hoped she was okay.

Dean found getting up difficult because he couldn’t bend one leg at all.  If there was pain, he didn’t feel it, though the knee joint was completely screwed up.  He wasn’t particularly concerned about it, though, and just crawled on the floor dragging that leg behind him until he was at Castiel’s feet.  He could hear Sam protesting and Clem moving somewhere outside the corner of his vision, but he ignored them.  “I am here,” he murmured, looking up at the angel with reverence on his face.

“Stand,” Castiel demanded, ignoring the other man's objections.  “Stand before me, Dean.”

Dean needed some way to lift himself up because he still couldn’t bend his knee.  He tried to, twice, three times, and failed, frustration making him frantic.  Finally, he reached for the angel’s hand, just to get a hold on something to pull himself up, but when Castiel didn’t reach for him in response, he froze, the numbness in his body fading.  Castiel didn’t want his touch?  Castiel was angry with him?  Suddenly everything started to hurt—his eyes, his head, his side where Sam had slammed into him, but especially his leg—, and he gritted his teeth, whimpering at the sudden barrage of sensation.  He needed to stand.  If he could stand, maybe he could make it right.  He tried again, but this time fell forward, crying out.  He toppled against Castiel and the angel didn’t move, just stood there like a wall, unwavering.  Dean hesitated, tears streaming down his face from pain, teeth still clenched, then grabbed hold of Castiel’s arm and used his vessel to pull himself slowly to his feet, hands gripping at the trench coat, limbs shaking.  When he was fully on his feet, he let go of Castiel and wavered there, leg screaming, hands clasped in fists, and eyes streaming.

“Stop it!” Sam wheezed, thrashing as if he could somehow break free.  “You're hurting him, you son of a bitch, stop!”  He watched in disbelief as Dean tried to stand and failed, staggering into the angel and literally dragging himself to his feet.  The whole time Cas didn't move, didn't lift a finger to help, just watched Dean with a calm, curious expression and his empty white eyes.

Sam’s ribs were aching from the force holding him down, but he was about to start fighting again anyway when he caught a hint of movement by the couch and froze.  Clem was inching across the floor, silently, eyes darting back and forth between Cas’s back and the spell on the table. _No, you idiot!_ Sam wanted to yell.    _Just get back, hide, don't let him notice you!_  Instead he could only watched in horror.  If Cas saw her…  Sam quickly resumed his struggles, trying to break free and keep Cas distracted, and all the time watching Clem creep closer and closer to her goal.

Castiel did not help Dean stand, but he did not remove the hunter's hands either when he clutched at the coat of Castiel's vessel.  It may have been cruel, but love was like that sometimes.  The word curdled in his mind and he cast it away, not sparing a thought for its meaning.  Dean needed to do this, to prove to Castiel that he was repentant, that he regretted his actions and his words.  Castiel was the only one Dean should thank, the only one whose shirt Dean should tangle his fingers in.

The angel let Dean sway before him for a few moments, watching the fear and doubt circle behind Dean's eyes.  When he was sure the hunter realized his mistake, he opened his arms wide, allowing Dean to topple forward into his embrace.

“Hush now, Dean, it's all right,” he soothed, and he gently reached into Dean's leg with his Grace, rearranging the tendons, shifting bone and muscle back into place with soft pops.  He soothed away the bruising on Dean's side, restored his damaged eyes and wiped away his headache like a cobweb.  “I am here, Dean, all will be well.”

But something wasn’t all right, even though Dean’s body was healed.  The angel still sung with Grace and it sent terror quaking through Dean.  He shouldn’t be afraid, he knew, and Castiel’s arms were soothing around Dean, but he couldn’t control his emotions.  Something was wrong.  His eyes fixed on Sam pressed against the wall, and a shudder of unease went through him.  Sam hadn’t been hurting Dean or taking him away from Castiel.  Castiel shouldn’t be hurting Sam.

“My hunter,” Castiel said.  “Look at me.”

Dean stiffened, panic flooding his system.  Those weren’t Castiel’s words.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  He turned his head back slowly, but couldn’t look the angel in the face.  His eyes fixed on his own hands clutching weakly at Castiel’s coat, and he shivered.

“Look at me, Dean.”  Castiel didn’t know why Dean was disobeying him, but it incensed him.  Roughly, he grabbed the hunter’s chin in one hand and forced his head up.  “Why are you afraid?  Tell me.”

Dean closed his eyes to the angel and took a deep breath, trying to remind himself that Castiel’s words didn’t belong to the monster in his nightmares, but he knew those words too well by now.  He listened to them every time sleep dragged him under.  No, no.  Castiel was real, and the dream was just that: a dream.  He took another deep breath, forcing himself to stop shivering.  

But the fear remained.  He couldn’t do this.  He hated him, he hated him—no.  He had to concentrate.  Castiel was good, and his Grace was good.  Dean shouldn’t feel so afraid.  Dean was bad.  Dean was wrong to even consider that Castiel was a monster.  His throat constricted as he passed the hatred of Castiel onto himself.  He wanted to bash his head against the wall.  He wanted Castiel to rip out his fingernails and then slowly loosen all of his joints until he had screamed himself hoarse.  He wanted to catch on fire, to burn slowly.  

Sam continued to struggle as he watched Dean's expression,  the adoration in it twisting to fear and hatred.  What the hell was Cas doing to him?  Clem was almost to the table now and Sam was filled with a wild hope that maybe she could do this, maybe they could break the spell.  Then Cas spoke and Sam wondered if it would be done soon enough to save Dean.  

“You _will_ answer me, Dean.”  Impatient with his hunter’s silence, Castiel took Dean's face in both his hands and stared into his eyes, worming his way into the hunter's mind.  He was pleased to find such adoration there, but the awe was tainted by self-loathing.  Castiel followed the thread of emotion through Dean's brain, uprooting it and removing it.  Such an ugly emotion had no place in his hunter's mind, not when it made the man wish to harm himself.  Castiel would never hurt Dean.  

Dean felt strangely disoriented for a second and went half-limp, feeling a sudden shift in emotion.  He wasn’t sure what he had just been thinking, but he knew he was supposed to speak.  Castiel had ordered him to.  “I thought—”  He squeezed his eyes shut again.  What was wrong with him?  Couldn’t follow a simple order, couldn’t even keep track of his own thoughts.  He was worthless, really, useless, and he didn’t understand why Castiel didn’t just leave him.  He would deserve it.  With effort, Dean forced himself to concentrate on Castiel’s demand for an answer, forced himself to remember what he’d been thinking about before that moment of confusion.  The dream.  And Castiel…  He should speak, but he couldn't; he’d already sinned by thinking Castiel a monster, and to repeat it aloud to the angel was more than he could bear.  

No.  That thought was wrong, bad, disobedient.  Guilt and shame rattled him and he felt something twist painfully in his chest.  He wanted his head held underwater.  He wanted to see Castiel kill his brother, just so that he would be punished.

Despite his work, the hatred still clung stubbornly and Castiel examined it curiously.  If he could not remove it then perhaps he could assuage it.  One of Dean's thoughts attracted the angel's attention and he read it more closely.   _I want to see Castiel kill my brother to punish me_.  Was that it?  Did Dean feel he deserved a reprimand?

Withdrawing from his hunter's thoughts, Castiel smiled down at him.  “If you wish, I shall punish you,” he whispered, running a thumb along Dean's cheekbone.  A wave of power swept from him and wrapped around the still-struggling hunter he had pinned to the wall, pulling him forwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of update info here. Cody is traveling abroad (maybe not abroad to some of you) to Italy for all of January. We'll try to keep editing, but the time difference will be rough. Even though we're trying our best to keep our weekly posting promise, the fact of the matter is that this fic needs an awful lot of work done before it's publishable and we don't have the luxury of sitting down and editing when we feel like it. I promise it will update as soon as we get each chapter done, but for now at least it looks like it won't be every Tuesday anymore. Thanks for understanding and sticking with us though; we love ya to death!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Cody and I have been working hard (he stays up way too late, but it's because he loves you!) and the next chapter is quite long! Please don't hate us after you read it; our original chapter breaks were a heck of a lot worse :P

**Chapter 12  
“And though we choose between reality and madness, it's either sadness or euphoria.”~  _Summer, Highland Falls_ , Billy Joel**

It took Dean a moment to realize what was happening, and when he did he turned in Castiel’s arms to see his brother being pulled towards them, unable to fight against Castiel’s Grace.  “No,” Dean whispered, then turned back to Castiel and gripped the front of his trench coat.  “Please, no, Castiel, you can’t do this, please don’t hurt my brother, please don’t hurt Sammy, you can’t, please, please—”

Sam fought against Cas, but it was no use, the angel was too strong.  He stumbled over, fear and confusion filling him as he got closer and began to make out Dean's words.  What the hell?  Cas was going to hurt him?  Why?  His fear tipped over into terror because Cas wasn't even looking at him, was focused entirely on Dean, like Sam was just any other object in the room.  

“Cas, what are you doing, man—” Sam began, but Grace smothered him, literally pushed down his throat and choked him so he couldn’t speak.

“Be silent,” Castiel ordered, not taking his eyes from Dean's. But Dean was pleading with him and he didn't know why.  “Dean, this was your idea,” he reminded the hunter gently.

“No,” Dean moaned, looking at his brother now, at the confusion and fear on his face.  “No, I didn’t want this, I never wanted this…”  He turned his head wildly and screamed at Castiel.  “Dammit, you did this to me!  Don’t you dare touch him!”  He was doing something wrong.  He was being bad.  He raked at his forearms with his nails, trying to regain control.  He knew he still had the glass in his pocket, but the moment it would take to retrieve it seemed too long; he needed the pain now, needed it to clear his mind so he could focus.  

Castiel recoiled slightly as Dean shouted at him.  Did Sam really have that much of a hold over Castiel's hunter?  It was unacceptable.  Dean was tense, resisting, but Castiel firmly turned him so that he had his back to Castiel's chest, facing his brother.  His hands found Dean’s and pinned them to his sides, chin hooking over Dean's shoulder.  

“Look, Dean,” he growled, power in his voice, a compulsion that Dean wouldn’t be able to resist.  “That man is coming between us.  I looked into your mind and saw your hatred, your desire to be punished, and it keeps you from me.”  He kissed the side of Dean's neck gently, raising goosebumps along the hunter's skin.  “If he is gone, you will be able to let go of that hatred and fully devote yourself to me.”  It was the only logical course of action, Castiel mused, finally raising his eyes to the man in front of them.

“No,” Dean moaned.  “I’ll do better, I promise.  But please, please, not Sam.  Don’t hurt him.” Dean’s voice trembled as the angel pressed a cold kiss to his neck.  His words, his _disobedience_ , made him try to free his hands to punish himself again, more, but he could not move, not to help Sam or hurt himself.  He couldn’t even look away from Sam, couldn’t blink, just stared painfully forward.

Sam struggled harder as he heard Castiel's words.  Shit, he was screwed, he was so screwed.  He was going to die and it wasn't going to be a vamp or shifter or even just a car crash, it was going to be his brother's angel, his friend.  Tears leaked from his eyes as he tried to scream or beg, but he still couldn't make a sound.  Dean was standing only a few feet away and neither of them could do anything but stare at each other.   _God, Cas, don't do this_ , Sam pleaded silently, but if the angel heard he gave no sign.  

Castiel did in fact hear Sam, and he thought it disgustingly hypocritical that the human would only pray to him at his hour of death.  “It is already done, Sam,” he whispered, and then he squeezed with his power.  Sam's eyes flew open wide as the pressure inside his body skyrocketed, and blood started to leak from his ears and nose almost immediately.  Castiel crushed Sam until the man was almost unconscious but not quite, chest heaving with shallow gasps for air as his frail bones and muscle strained against the immovable wall of Castiel's Grace.  Had the angel not been holding Sam upright, the man would have crumpled to the floor already.

“Is this punishment enough, Dean?” the angel whispered, nipping playfully at Dean's ear and kissing his neck again, washing the hunter in his Grace and holding him tightly.

Dean could feel the Grace lightly entering his skin, and his body relaxed, his mouth opening to say, “No, this is not enough punishment.”  Castiel was perfect, he was everything, Dean had done wrong and needed this.  But Sam was there, and Dean couldn’t look away, and he couldn’t let him die.  He bit down on the words, stopping himself, and he hated himself for doing it. “Please,” he whimpered instead. He could barely see his brother through his tears, even as his gaze was fixed on him.  He tried again to pry his arms from Castiel and failed, tried to flinch away to avoid having Castiel’s face so predatorily close to his neck.  But this time the contact of Castiel’s lips sent an intense wave of pleasure through him and he bit his tongue again.  He had to think, not just feel Castiel touching him and wanting him and owning him.  Dean’s head fell back onto the angel’s shoulder and he groaned.  Sam, Sam needed him to… to…  He was drowning in Castiel, and he couldn’t think, but Sam...his brother was going to die because of him.  There had to be something he could do.

He thought dimly of the hex bag around his neck, unreachable now, and how it had toned down Castiel’s possessiveness into something more manageable but still… terrifying?  Was that how he felt about Castiel?  He could think Castiel terrifying as long as he still worshipped him, because Castiel was his god and gods are awful and wonderful and frightening at the same time.  So finding him terrifying was good, as long as it didn’t interfere with pleasuring him.

No, no.  There was something wrong with Castiel; he wasn’t a god, he wasn’t the universe.  Dean needed him, though.  No, he didn’t need him.  But he didn’t hate him, though he thought he might have hated him a few minutes ago.  He venerated him.  He wished him power over all of creation. But he couldn’t let him hurt Sam.

And yet there was nothing Dean could do.  Nothing he could say.  His tried to make enough sense of the grayness in his memory to say something that could change Castiel’s decision.  When had the angel been kind? Dean’s mind was screaming that Castiel was always kind, too kind for the likes of Dean, but some small voice inside his heart whispered _Cas_.  Castiel had been concerned when Dean was talking about Cas, had been gentle and curious. Maybe if Dean reminded him...

“Did you ever figure it out?”  Dean mumbled.  He could feel all of Castiel’s attention focused on him.  “Why you aren’t Cas?”  He let out a tiny laugh that was more of a sob.  “I miss Cas.”  He shouldn’t, he should only want Castiel.  And he did, he adored him, he wanted him to ravish him, he wanted him to punish him for his transgressions.  But… “What happened to Cas?” Dean asked plaintively.  He had a strange pain in his chest that he couldn't explain.

Castiel snarled as Dean spoke, unconsciously tightening his hold on Sam until the hunter's ribs began to splinter one by one.  “I—” he began, then stopped.  Was he going to say he was Cas?  Cas was an amputated wreck, half a name for less than half an angel, and Castiel was no longer such a thing.  “I am Castiel!” The words tore from his throat as the rest of Sam's ribs caved in a series of staccato cracks.  “You do not need Cas,” he hissed, spinning Dean to face him, “because you have me and I am better than he was, I am greater, and I am everything you will ever want.”  Castiel drew in his Grace and let Sam fall to the floor.  He would _make_ Dean see; he would punish him properly this time so that no one else would ever matter but Castiel.

The angel was angrier than Dean had ever seen him, eyes white and blinding just for a moment before the world around Dean went dark as Castiel threw him into his subconscious.  Even as Dean fell past blurs of memory and selfhood, Castiel was all around him.  This was no longer Dean’s mind; it belonged to Castiel, and Castiel was painting it with napalm, finding his way down the tracks of knowledge and memory and normalcy and ripping them apart.  Dean scrambled to put the fragments back together, fighting because he’d promised to try to remember his brother’s name.  And he did try, but it was hard as his words to Sam began to fade, turning to nothingness.  The angel’s presence drummed on his mind and crushed everything else to dust.  Castiel.   _Castiel_.

Sam choked, tried to draw a breath, and felt several of his ribs pierce his lungs.  It hurt and he screamed, which made him cough, which only forced his shattered bones deeper into his organs.  He had fallen on his side, and he watched helplessly as the angel clutched his brother, white light spilling from his eyes and mouth as though his vessel were about to explode.  Another wave of pain and oxygen deprivation threatened to overwhelm him, and Sam's eyes drifted closed, but he jerked them open again.  Sam couldn't just lie here, Dean was in trouble, and Clem—  Movement behind the angel caught Sam's gaze, and he saw the young hunter lifting herself shakily to stand next to the table.  Clem’s ankle looked like it had twisted badly when she hit the wall earlier, but she managed to put weight on it just long enough to pick up the bowl with both hands and throw it, knocking over one of the candles in the process and spilling wax across the table and floor.  

Dean fluttered his eyes open, still struggling to sew together the places where Castiel had marched through his mind.  His hands were tangled in the front of the angel’s shirt and he was being held, gently now.  Something was wrong.  No.  Something was different.

His head hurt and he loosed a hand from the shirt and put it on his temple.  Then he looked at Castiel’s face.  Blinked.  Reached out a hand and touched his cheek with his thumb, then dropped his hand.  “You’re not Castiel,” he said softly.  

Then there was a wheeze behind him and he remembered his brother, remembered _Sam_ , what Castiel had been doing to him and turned to look at Sam where he lay on the floor.  “Sammy?”  Oh god, there was so much blood, and Sam wasn’t gonna make it; Dean could see from the concavity of his ribcage and the already-dead look in his eyes.  He crushed his free hand into his own face and sobbed.  “Sam, I’m so sorry.  This is all my fault.” He wanted to go to Sam, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Castiel—Cas.

Castiel didn't respond as Dean touched his face, the hunter confirming what he already knew.   _You're not Castiel_. Maybe not anymore, but he had been.  He remembered with painful clarity the strange behavior, the Grace that he now recognized as part of the spell, the way it had warped him into… into some _thing_ that had harmed Dean.  And now he was just Cas, a fallen angel full of Grace that he didn't want and memories that threatened to crush him beneath their horror.  Dean twisted away from him and called out his brother's name, but didn’t go to him; Cas wasn’t sure he could.  Not in the state Castiel had left him in.

Cas remembered the crunch of bone and didn’t want to look, but he forced himself to.  Sam was stretched out on the floor, and Cas was paralyzed by the bright red blood painting his face and chest.  As if in a daze he drifted to stand over Sam, Dean stumbling along with him.  

“No,” he said softly, startling Dean from his whispered apologies.  “This was me, not you, Dean.”  Cas didn't kneel so much as crumple, and Sam's darkening gaze fixing on his face made him want to crawl into a nest of vipers and lie there until their poison ate away his bones.  “Stay back, Dean,” he said very softly, laying a shaking hand on Sam’s forehead.

Dean stepped back obediently, but dropped to his knees behind Cas and grabbed at his coat.  “What are you gonna do?” he whispered.  He leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against Cas’s shoulder.  Part of him was terrified that Cas would hurt his Sam, then he shook himself.  This was _Cas_ , not Castiel, and if this was Cas, then maybe… Dean hung onto Cas’s arm, eyes bright.  “Can you fix him?  I’ll do anything, you know I will.”

Dean's words made Cas shudder, reminded him of all the things he had done to the man who knelt behind him, clinging to him in a lost way.  “I am going to try to fix him, Dean. And—” Cas’s voice caught.  “You don't have to do anything.”  Cas gently pulled his other arm from Dean and wavered over Sam's torso before settling it in the center of his mangled ribcage.

The Grace felt cold and unfamiliar, and Cas fumbled with it, trying to force it to do his will as he felt Sam's heart stutter beneath his fingers.  He bit his lip in concentration and remembered rebuilding Dean's body after Hell.  This wasn't so different; he could do it, he had to.  Small things first.  A coil of Grace to Sam's soul, keeping it from slipping away.  One to his heart to keep it beating, one to remove the slivers of bone lodged in that vital muscle.  As difficult as it was, it took only a few seconds for Cas to maneuver all of the shards of Sam's ribs back to their places, coaxing the cells to heal themselves with soft brushes of Grace and returning what blood he could to the veins.  When he pulled his hands from Sam, not even bothering to clean the blood off of them, the younger Winchester's eyes were open and staring at him.  Confused, but alert.  Alive.  Cas let out a breath of relief.  He had fixed something.  Something important.  

Sam thought he was dead but he couldn’t be sure; he was getting too many mixed signals from his body. He hoped that Dean was all right, but he couldn’t find the energy to do anything but stare blankly at the ceiling, or whatever the darkness floating above him was. Then suddenly he felt something trickling into him, bringing sensation with it.  A cold hand on his forehead, the sound of Dean’s harsh breathing, much closer than it should have been.  A pair of haunted blue eyes just above him.  Fear shot through him, paralyzing him.  He couldn’t imagine what else Cas would do to him.  That monster had already… Sam finally registered the general lack of pain in his body.  Cas had healed him?  But the thing from before wouldn’t have done that.  He blinked once, to prove to himself that he could.  Next Sam rolled his head away, then back, then lifted it slightly.  It hurt, but only as much as he would expect from being dropped on the floor. So he could do that too.

Sam took a deep breath, noting the absence of pain.  Another, and then Sam sat bolt upright and he couldn’t stop his shallow, rapid, painless breaths.  He knew he was hyperventilating, but he couldn’t stop because everything almost just had, and he figure he had a right to be panicking.

His mind ground to a halt and then lurched forwards, and Sam spun to see Cas sitting back on his heels, studying the blood on his hands as though hoping it would burn through his flesh.  Cas, obviously, completely, and Sam let out a breath that may have been a laugh because the monster was gone.  Dean was kneeling as well, and Sam pulled him into a hug, gasping and choking as tears started to flow but it didn’t matter because Dean was alive too and whatever Clem had done must have worked.

As if his thought had summoned her, Sam heard a soft thump and pulled his face away from Dean long enough to see Clem sitting nearby, shaking and pale, but still alive too. And now Sam couldn’t seem to stop laughing because how often did this happen for the Winchesters, a day when everyone survived?  So he held Dean and laughed and cried on the floor of someone else's house because there was nothing else he could do.

Dean let Sam hold him, feeling his brother’s heartbeat and his tears and his laughter against him, but after a moment he grew too uncomfortable and started to pull away. He was supposed to be paying attention to Cas, and he knew it was wrong to feel comforted by his brother’s hug.  With a push against his brother’s chest get Sam away from him, Dean turned back to the angel.  He chewed his lip slightly, his body shaking and head bowed in repentance and gratitude.  “Thank you,” he said.  “I didn’t deserve—”  He flicked his eyes upward and saw the strangest look on Cas’s face.  His eyebrows were drawn like they normally were when he was curious or puzzled, but there was a tightness around his mouth that Dean didn’t recognize and his eyes had a sad, broken sort of cast to them.  Dean curled his shoulders inward and slid a hand into his pocket, fingering the piece of glass that he’d stashed there.  He stared at Cas’s lips.  The eyes were too painful, but the lips, the lips he understood.  And wanted.  “Are you hurt?” he asked hesitantly, withdrawing the glass and pressing the cool edge to his skin.  Everything was too hazy, too confusing.  

“Dean, no!” Cas moved as fast as he could but Dean still broke the skin.  His words held none of the compulsion from earlier, only pain and guilt.  He had done this, had reduced Dean to this, to drawing his own blood.  Cas’s hands covered Dean's and he almost healed him immediately, but stopped himself. It was too much like what he had done before. Instead he pulled the glass out of Dean’s fingers, throwing it away from them, and cradled Dean's hands to himself.  The hunter’s wrist bled sluggishly into Cas’s lap, mixing with Sam’s blood from earlier.

Sam started to scramble up when he saw Dean pull the glass out of his pocket, but Cas intervened and he dropped back down.  He had been watching Cas warily, waiting for the angel to snap back into his vengeful, spell-induced fury, because surely this couldn’t have been that easy.  But when Cas looked at Dean, Sam saw the self-loathing in his eyes, heard the terror in his voice as he realized what he had done.  He let out a shaky breath, allowing himself to hope that it might be over.  

“No, I'm not hurt. And don’t thank me, I did this, I did all of this!”  Cas’s voice rose in a panicked shout, and he had to force it down.  That unfamiliar Grace was still pooled inside him, stagnating, and Cas knew he needed to use it or maybe just purge it because it didn't belong; it was just a leftover reminder of what he had done. Cas tried to control his scattered thoughts, tried to focus. Sam was healed. He glanced across to the girl, Clem, and she winced when he made eye contact, scooting further away. Terrified of him, of course.  And injured, he could see, but it was minor. And, miraculously, not something he had caused.  He turned his attention back to Dean, the one that he knew truly needed help, and forced himself to examine him thoroughly, inside and out.

Dean's beautiful soul was crushed, crumpled like a piece of paper that Cas had wadded up and throw away.  Everywhere Cas could see the Grace that was not his, laid over and filling the crevices, smoldering slowly where it touched Dean.  Of course, Cas thought numbly.  Dean would never have let Cas own him like that willingly, so the only way to control him had been to break him.  The Grace had already done a terrible amount of damage, although Cas could see Dean's soul struggling against its corruption.  For a moment, Cas wondered what he would do if he couldn’t fix the hunter.  Would Dean prefer to be dead rather than the way he was now? He shook off the thought almost immediately. Failure was not an option. Cas would save Dean even if it took every last drop of Grace he had and more.  “Dean, how could I do this to you?” he whispered, searching the hunter's eyes for some acknowledgement that his actions had been irredeemable, some bit of the old Dean that must hate him and everything he was.  But all he saw was confusion, and fear, and childish hurt, and over it all the shine of adoration that Cas loathed because he had created it.

Dean didn’t understand and Cas’s gaze hurt him.  It shouldn’t bother him; he was wrong to feel the way he did, but it was like the angel was looking through him.  Sam looking at him like that, Dean could understand, but he’d never thought Cas would do that to him.  And what the angel said…  Dean didn’t completely understand, but he knew Cas wasn’t happy with him.  Fear flickered through him even though he didn’t have to be afraid anymore.  Cas wasn’t like Castiel.  Cas wouldn’t hurt him or Sam or anyone else.  Even if Dean deserved it.  But he couldn’t shake the fear from himself; it clung to him like wet clothes on skin.  His hands twitched where Cas held them, and he wanted desperately to dig his fingernails into the cut he’d just opened up, but he remembered the angel’s order not to.  Instead, he pulled his wrists out of Cas’s hands and knelt before him, head bowed.  “I’m sorry I’m bad,”  he whispered.

“No, Dean, you’re not,” Cas said softly, and Dean looked up at him with a hopeful, pleading expression.  The hunter tentatively moved closer, spreading his knees to either side of Cas’s so he could lean in and wrap his arms around the angel’s shoulders.  Ducking  his head, he buried his face in Cas’s neck, and the angel reflexively hugged Dean back in an attempt to comfort him.  Then he felt the hunter press a gentle kiss to his collarbone, and tried not to stiffen.  It was his fault Dean was like this, and Dean wouldn’t understand if Cas pushed him away now.  

“Dean,” Cas said gently, but the hunter just kissed him again, so Cas had to repeat himself, a little more emphatically.  “Dean.”  This time, Dean pulled away slightly, eyes meeting Cas’s, and for a moment Cas was at a loss for words.  Dean was staring, the uncertainty in his expression growing into full-on panic.  “It’s all right,” Cas said hastily, and Dean’s face relaxed marginally.  “Just…  Not right now, okay?”  Cas broke eye contact to glance up at Sam apologetically, praying the younger hunter could tell that he didn’t want this.

When Dean crawled up to Cas, nuzzling into the angel just as he had before, the last shred of hope Sam had that his brother wasn’t still enthralled to Cas dissipated.  Of course, the damage had been done.  Cas shot Sam a look that let the hunter know that he was just as lost as Sam.  Knowing that the angel was unsure did nothing to reassure Sam.  What if he never got Dean back; what if his brother remained this twisted shadow of himself forever?  “Cas, please, you have to help him,” he whispered under his breath, too low for Dean to hear, but Cas’s eyes flashed up at him briefly.  Sam wasn’t even close to being able to deal with the emotions he saw there, so he turned to Clem, who was watching Dean and Cas carefully, something like revulsion in her eyes.

“You okay?" he asked softly, and she nodded without looking away.

“I thought breaking the curse would fix everything,” she said softly, watching Dean guiltily look away from Cas and hang his head.  “Why's Dean still acting like this?”

“Cas didn't put a spell on him, he…” Sam fumbled for the right words.  “I don’t exactly know what he did, but it’s more permanent than that.”

“Is he going to fix him?”

“God I hope he can,” Sam muttered, turning to watch Cas and Dean.

Sam's words carried to Cas and his heart twisted.  He was going to try, but Dean was so broken, so lost.  This wasn't like Hell because Hell had been careful, spinning Dean's soul into twisted blown glass nightmares, and Castiel had simply made it the right shape again.  Now there were fractures running through Dean, and pieces missing, and it was all his fault.  Cas had taken Grace, something pure and divine, and used it to destroy a soul against its will.  He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to shape Dean’s soul again, not even to repair the damage, without Dean’s permission.  If Dean was still capable of giving it.  

“Dean, look at me.”  Cas got one hand between their torsos and pushed Dean away. The hunter obediently shifted back, but not very far, and he seemed unwilling to take his hands off Cas’s shoulders.   “Dean, you need to let me help you.  I’m going to try to put you back the way you used to be, but you need to let me, okay?”

“I’ll do anything you want,” Dean said, staring reverentially at Cas.

Cas felt numb as he stared at Dean and wondered how on earth he could have done this to the man, how he could have thought this was acceptable. He didn't need to wonder though, because Cas _knew_ already, remembered every minute, every thought of his that had created this crippled soul that didn't even know it was broken.

“I want you to think about yourself, about how you are. Doesn't anything seem wrong to you?”

Dean blinked confusedly, and shook his head without really thinking about the question.  What could be wrong?  Cas was here.  

The angel saw that the hunter wasn’t grasping what he was saying, so he spoke again. “Try to remember, Dean.  You aren't here, not all of you.” Cas knew his words would upset the hunter, but he had to know if Dean was even aware of what had been done to him.

“I’m right here,” Dean mumbled, then shook his head.  “I’ll try,” he whispered.  But only because Cas had told him to.  It was hard, thinking about himself, because he only wanted to think about Cas.  Cas was all he _should_ think about.  But Dean couldn’t disobey, so he took a deep breath and thought.

The truth was, Dean wasn’t sure what Cas was talking about.  His memory went back to Castiel holding him in the middle of a ring of holy fire, and then petered painfully out.  He remembered Sam and Clem telling him that he should be someone else, but he had no idea who that other person was.  Dean hadn’t existed before Castiel.

Had he?  He must have…  He must have been a child at one point.  Must have had parents, must have grown up.  Dean shook his head.  No, that wasn’t right.  Castiel could have just created him as he was now.  The thought pleased him, to have had Castiel’s Grace build him atom by atom.  That was true belonging.  

“Dean?”  The sound of Sam’s voice startled him.  Sam.  His brother. Castiel hadn’t created Sam, Dean was sure of that.  If he had, Sam would have loved him like Dean did.

Dean shifted, confused, and looked back at Cas mournfully.  “Castiel didn’t create me, did he,” he said softly, almost disappointedly.  

Cas stared back at Dean, completely lost for words.  Sam answered instead, in a strangled sort of voice.  Cas couldn’t bring himself to look up at his expression.  

“Do you not remember—not even Mom and Dad?  The fight we had when I went to Stanford?  Hunting?”  Sam’s voice rose with every word until he was almost shouting. “Not even going to Hell for thirty damn years, Dean?”

“Sam—”  Cas began, which turned out to be a mistake.  There was a scuff of shoes on the floor and the next instant Sam had punched him so hard that Cas thought he might have  broken at least one finger.

“What the hell did you do to him, you son of a bitch? Give me back my brother!”

Dean lept to his feet and grabbed Sam’s jacket, hauling him away from Cas.  “Don’t you dare touch him,” he hissed.  With a solid push, he sent Sam sprawling backwards, but he was on him in a minute, hands at his throat.  

“Dean!”  In an instant, Cas was hauling him off his brother. “No, don’t!”  Sam didn’t even try to stand, just lay there and covered his face with one arm.

Dean flinched away, body shaking. He covered his face and then raked his hands up through his hair before looking to Cas for guidance.  “He hurt you!” Dean insisted.

“I know, Dean.  I know.  But I deserve it.”  Cas deserved a great deal more than a punch in the face, but there was no sense is trying to explain that to Dean.  “Let me heal you, Dean.  Please.  You had a life before me, I swear.  I just want you to have one after me as well.”

Dean just stared at Cas.  He didn’t understand why the angel was acting this way, why he thought that he deserved to be harmed, and it disturbed him.  More disturbing, though, were Cas’s last words.  About a life after him.  That didn’t make any sense.  He made a soft sound of distress in the back of his throat and shook his head at Cas, even though he knew that he shouldn’t argue with the angel’s wishes.  In a breath, he was curling his arms around Cas, crushing his face against the angel’s neck and trying very hard not to cry.  “But you are my life,” he whispered.  

“I never used to be,”  Cas murmured, then shook his head slightly, trying to focus. He drew Dean away from his brother and seated him on the floor again.  “Will you let me try to fix you?” Cas asked, sitting in front of him.  Of course, he could just order Dean to let him, but that would defeat the purpose.

Dean ducked his head.  He knew Cas wanted him to say yes, and that alone should convince him in an instant, but he hesitated.  There had been something… _wrong_ with him before.  Otherwise Castiel never would have fixed him.  And he didn’t know if he could deal with that, with being inherently broken.  And he couldn’t imagine that anyone could possibly want him like that.  

“If I do this,” Dean said slowly, looking up at Cas and then turning his eyes downward, “and I don’t end up the way you want me to be…”  He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment.  “Will you still love me?”  

Cas drew Dean against him and held him tightly.  “Of course, Dean,” he whispered, even though his heart nearly stopped at the thought that Dean would be irreparable.  “I'll love you no matter what.”  The angel hesitated, glancing over at Sam. The hunter had sat up, and Clem was kneeling beside him with a comforting hand on his shoulder.  He wasn’t looking at either of them.  “Sam will too.”  At that, Sam’s head jerked up, and he threw an unreadable glance at Cas.   

“What are you going to do now, Cas?” Sam's voice was wary, but the violence of before had passed.  The angel tried to give him a reassuring smile.

Cas examined his Grace, calculating the amount this would take.  He thought he had enough.  He must.  “I'm going to try and put your brother back together.”  He hesitated, then quickly added, “It may get uncomfortably bright in here.”  He glanced at Sam, then at Clem.  Sam would stay, of course, but perhaps Clem would leave.  The fewer people in the room, the better; Cas wasn’t sure how the hunter would react when he realized what had happened.

“Clem, why don't you find a phone and call the others, tell them where we are and what happened.”  Sam’s words were an order, not a question.  The young woman looked back and forth between Sam and Cas for a moment before nodding slowly and standing.  She squeezed Sam’s shoulder comfortingly, then shakily exited the room, giving the demon’s remains a wide berth.  

“Very well.  Now, Dean.”  Cas turned his attention back to the hunter, who was waiting patiently in front of him.  Every time he saw the dependency in Dean's face Cas wanted to gag, turn away, but he couldn’t.  He needed to hold himself together, just a little longer, for Dean.  Afterwards he could run as far away as the world would allow, but this needed to happen first.  “Dean,” he said again when he saw the hunter’s attention wandering, eyes dropping to Cas’s lips before snapping back up to meet his gaze.  “This might hurt, but I don't know for sure; I've never done it before.  I do know that I can't do it on my own.  You need to try to return to who you were, or it won't work.”

Dean glanced nervously at his brother, who gave him a small smile that wasn’t particularly reassuring.  Then he looked back at Cas.  With a slight shake of his head, he stared down at his lap.  He didn’t want to try.  It was too much to ask when Dean didn’t want to do this to begin with.  But because Cas had asked it, he would.  That didn’t stop him from being nervous, though, and so he reached forward and took Cas’s hand in both of his, not holding it as he normally would, but looking at the palm, the delicate lines that ran like tributaries into larger rivers over his skin.  He touched the skin there lightly, gently, then turned the hand over, smoothing his thumb over Cas’s fingernails and knuckles.  There was a strange tremor to Cas’s hand that Dean didn’t understand, but it was calming for Dean.   

Cas shuddered as Dean touched his hands.  The contact was so gentle, curious, loving even.  It made it ten times worse when Cas realized that Dean would never touch him like this again, assuming the hunter was even willing to look at him once he was healed. Cas sighed heavily, blinking, and felt moisture clinging to his lashes.  He shouldn’t cry, it would only upset Dean, and yet two tears fell anyway, landing on Dean's hands.  “I'm so sorry, Dean.”

Dean started and stared at the droplets that were on his hands.  Tears.  He looked up at the angel and his heart constricted.  “Why are you saying that?  Why are you apologizing?” he asked, reaching his hands to Cas’s face and wiping the tears with his thumbs.  “Don’t cry, please don’t cry, I don’t want to make you cry.”  Dean started to sob too, and he wanted crawl into Cas’s space again and be close to him, take in his warmth and stay there, but he didn’t because Cas had just seated him where he was.  He had never seen the angel cry before, and it scared him.  Getting up on his knees, Dean kissed Cas’s forehead.  “Don’t cry, Cas, it’s okay, everything’s okay.”  He pulled away and put his forehead against Cas’s.  “I’ll do my best, okay?  I promise, I will.”

Cas felt as though Dean's tears should burn his skin, because they weren’t right and they were Cas’s fault, but they didn’t.  He forced himself to stop crying, cursing his body for betraying him with such a human reaction.  Reaching up he wiped his eyes, then Dean's, smiling shakily at the hunter.  “Thank you, Dean.”  He settled Dean on his heels, then changed his mind and pulled the hunter down, arranging him so that he was lying on the floor with his head in Cas’s lap.

“I'm going to start now, Dean, and you have to stay still until I'm done.”  Cas leaned over the hunter, staring down into his wide green eyes as  he steeled himself. He wasn't sick anymore and he didn't have unlimited amounts of Grace to use, so he had to do this the hard way.  He placed one comforting hand on Dean's cheek, giving him his best reassuring upside-down smile, then sank his free hand into the hunter's chest.

Cas grasped for Dean's soul as gently as he could, but it kept pulling back from him, slipping away, as though it recognized the hand that had so callously damaged it earlier. “Dean, please,” Cas gritted through his teeth. "You have to let me touch it, please, just once more, trust me."

Dean’s shoulders stiffened as Cas’s hand slid into his torso and he let out a strangled cry of pain, wanting to move away, but Cas had told him to be still so he focused on looking up at the underside of Cas’s jaw above him.  It hurt, but Dean had to try; he had promised.  So he forced himself to relax and allow the angel to do what he wanted to him.

Cas knew Dean was listening to him because his soul surrendered to Cas, allowing the angel to touch it despite its fear and pain.  Cas was aware that he was muttering reassurances under his breath, a constant stream of “It'll be okay Dean, you'll be all right, everything is fine.”  

The extent of the damage startled him until he remembered all the soft brushes of Grace, the little reminders that he had given Dean that worked the barbs in further.  He felt sick, unworthy of touching Dean again after doing this to him, but there was no one else who could save his hunter so Cas would have to step in.  

In his mind, he could envision the compulsion that he had left on Dean, wound about and tangled through his soul like razor wire, and he began to pick at it.  His very Grace seemed to be fighting him, but Cas bent it to his will and forged on, tugging his corruption from Dean's mind and piecing back together the fragments of memories Castiel had damaged.  Every time Dean twitched under his hands, or moaned, Cas wished he could have just died before laying hands on Dean.  He wished that he had burnt out his Grace and withered away in Dean's apartment long before any of this had happened.  Tears began to fall from his eyes again but neither he nor Dean noticed.

The pain was overwhelming.  Dean felt as if his mind was being dismantled, and he kept getting lost as he tried to follow what Cas was doing to him.  He didn’t understand, couldn’t make sense of it, but every now and again the angel would hesitantly tug at some part of his mind and all of Dean revolted, sure that this was breaking him, sure that Cas was taking out everything that was holding him together.  But then he’d hold himself back, tell himself that it was okay, that Cas was making things better, that he just had to trust him.  Every time it got harder because the places Cas changed were tender and bleeding and filled with anger and pain and fear.  He couldn’t see, he couldn’t make sense of what was happening, but he told himself he had to hold on a little longer, just a little while longer.  He followed Cas closer, wanting him out, barely keeping himself from trying to remove him.  He couldn’t keep this up much longer, as the sense of hurt, of betrayal, choked him tighter and tighter.    

Cas could feel Dean's growing discomfort, knew that the hunter wanted him out of his mind, and he tried to move faster, tried to clear out all of the hidden places where some portion of his poison might be hiding.  If he didn't get it all, if he left some of Dean's mind freed and some of it still under his influence… Cas didn't know what would happen.  Maybe Dean would finally shatter under the weight of his conflicting emotions, into tiny fragments of stardust that Cas would never be able to piece together again.

So the angel moved his free hand from Dean’s face to his shoulder, pinning him as he began to resist, searching out every speck of himself from Dean's soul and banishing it.  “Just a little longer, Dean,” he begged.  “A little more and I swear I’ll never touch you again.”  The words broke his heart, but he meant them.

He was still there, the bastard, still doing things to him and Dean had had enough of that, had had enough of his murmured comforts that meant nothing, had had enough of his hands on his soul.  Only a small part of him still told him to wait, that Cas would be gone in a minute, that Cas was _helping_ him, freeing him.  But the son of a bitch was the one who had done it in the first place and that was something Dean couldn’t even begin to understand.  And it hurt, overwhelmingly, and Dean wasn’t sure that he could take it any longer.  It would be so easy to just let himself crumble under it, to stop trying to heal his wounds and just rest.  The pain was too enormous to fight anymore.  But he had to keep fighting because he was Dean Winchester and that’s what he did.  Except… that person was gone, wasn’t he?  So what was the point of fighting?

“Sam,” Cas gasped, as he felt Dean wavering.  He had underestimated himself, underestimated his own cruelty, and now the pain of being purged was crushing Dean.  “Sam, you need to talk to Dean.  Tell him to hold on.”  Cas hardly knew what he was saying because he wasn't finished yet but Dean was fighting him now, him and the pain and he couldn't defeat them both.

Sam jerked back to reality when he heard Cas call his name—he had been mesmerized by the glow of what he could only assume was Dean’s soul interacting with Cas’s Grace.  Now he scrambled across the floor to his brother's side.  Dean's eyes were half-open but glassy, and he was panting harshly as though in great pain.  He hadn’t thought that they might lose Dean now, right on the cusp of getting him back to normal, and the revelation terrified Sam.  “Dammit!  Dean, it’s Sam, all right?  You’ve got to hold on.”  Sam took his brother's hand and squeezed gently, then harder when Dean clenched his fingers around Sam's own.  He was careful not to disrupt Cas from whatever he was doing. “Come on man, stay with me,” Sam pleaded.

Dean couldn’t do this.  He was going to die.  Simple as that.  He didn’t even mind; it would be easier.  The pain would be gone, Castiel would be gone, everything would fade.  It was already fading, the pain was whiting everything into oblivion, and he reached out to embrace the whiteness.

But then he heard his brother’s voice.   _Dammit._  The poor fool couldn’t just let him go.  Except Dean was the fool because he was the one who knew that dying would be a kindness and Sam was just blindly calling his name in the dark.  Sam didn’t know anything that was happening.  Yes, Dean was a fool because he started to fight again, and when his brother gripped his hand somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, he clamped hard over his fingers, grounding himself.  And the pain that had been fading came back, doubled, because Cas was still in his mind, still hurting him, and Dean cursed him, chasing through the trail of ruin in his mind, not sure if he should try to reconstruct the lesions left behind or if he should find Cas and tear at him until he fled.  

Cas pulled the last scrap of tainted Grace from Dean’s mind and continued attempting to heal the damage left behind, but then felt the hunter's presence there, cursing him, full of incoherent rage that had no words and a pain so deep it was a wonder he was still alive.  The angel obeyed the half-understood threats, dragging himself away from Dean, trying to help the hunter patch himself up, but the force of Dean’s thoughts was too great for the weakened angel and he tumbled back to himself with a dismayed gasp.

He released Dean's soul and scrambled away from the hunter, barely cognizant of Sam cursing and catching Dean’s head before it could smack the floor.  Cas cowered in the farthest corner of the room, Grace extinguished, unable to fly, too weak to even stand.  He imagined that he could still feel the force of Dean's wrath and betrayal even from here, and he curled away, wrapping his arms around his head and drawing his legs up like a frightened child.  His shoulders shook with sobs as he waited for the inevitable explosion that he knew was not far.

Sam was still talking to Dean, saying anything that came to mind and praying his brother's hand wasn't about to go limp in his, when Cas suddenly jerked like he'd been electrocuted.  Sam's cry of “What the hell, ~Cas?” went unnoticed as the angel struggled to put as much distance as he could between himself and Dean.  Sam could only stare in shock as the angel shied away from them, balling himself up until he was just a shivering lump of canvas.  Sam was about to ask what had happened when Dean stirred in his hands.

“Dean?” he croaked, voice choosing now of all times to die on him.  “Hey man, look at me, you all right?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Miss us? We're not doing so hot on the weekly thing, I know, but then again we are both full-time students and ain't nobody got time for this (unfortunately). Last semester we could do, like, a Tuesday-Thursday night thing, but this semester it's like, I get off work and Cody goes on work, or I'm in class when he's out, and it's just. Oy. But we'll try to do better! Anyway, enjoy your respite from things sucking because it won't last long…

**Chapter 13**

**"Don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore? You lost the love I loved the most."**

**~** _**Jar of Hearts**_ **, Christina Perri**

 

Dean opened his eyes. His head was killing him and for a moment he could barely see, then Sam's face defined itself in front of him. "I'm all right," he managed to get out. "I'm all right, I'm—" Suddenly Dean couldn't get out any more words, couldn't move, and his pulse pounded in his temples. Sam was staring at him, and Dean couldn't even lift his eyes from where they'd fixed somewhere over Sam's left shoulder. A moment later, though, he could move again, and he pressed a hand to his forehead, startled. He didn't know what the hell had just happened to him, but the rush of confusion turned quickly to fury. "Dammit," he hissed, clenching his eyes shut. He opened them again in an instant and met Sam's eyes. "Where is he?"

Sam swallowed, thinking he may have just imagined Dean's immobility. He was not imagining the look in Dean's eyes, though, and it worried him. "Wait a minute, Dean, just—"

"I'm not waiting anymore," Dean said, voice rising in volume, and he pushed away from his brother. "Where the hell is he?" Sam didn't respond, and in the silence that followed Dean heard the stifled sound of sobbing. He whirled toward it and there was the angel, curled in the corner like a piece of litter. If he thought his tears would make Dean forgive him, he'd be disappointed, because that wasn't going to happen. Not this time. Dean strode to him and stood in front of him. "What did you do," he said, voice low and dangerous. The angel didn't move, just stayed there crying. "What the hell did you do to me?" Pause. Nothing. "You think you can just sit there and not say anything to me? Come on, you bastard, say something for yourself!" He grabbed the front of the angel's shirt and dragged him upright, slamming him back against the wall.

Cas didn't resist as the hunter smashed him into the wall, made no move to defend himself. After all, he hadn't afforded Dean that luxury. He realized that Dean was waiting for him to explain himself, and Cas opened his mouth. But he had no words, so he just closed it again. How did you apologize for destroying someone? So Cas just hung there in Dean's grasp, trying to stifle the tears that still leaked from his eyes and staring Dean straight in the face even though he just wanted to hang his head. Dean deserved that much at the very least.

He wasn't saying anything, the son of a bitch was just going to sit there without a word and watch Dean with his big sad eyes. It wasn't fair that Cas could hide behind silence like that, that he could say nothing to Dean when Dean's mind was still raw and hurting from what he'd done. Dean's face was only inches from Cas's, and he suddenly became overly aware of their proximity. He didn't want to be close to Cas, and he tried to flinch back, but couldn't. He had to move, had to make space between him and the angel, but his body wouldn't listen to him. He just stared at a wrinkle in Cas's coat, trying to collect himself, trying not to let himself panic. And then he was back in control, tightening his grip on the angel's shirt. He didn't know what the hell was happening to him, but it could only be Cas's fault, so he drew his fist back and punched the angel in the face. Then he dropped him like he was nothing and turned his back, nursing his hand slightly.

Cas had been confused when Dean paused, but he soon realized that the hunter wasn't doing it on purpose. His body was frozen, true, but when the angel looked deeper he could see Dean's soul, still fragile despite Cas's efforts. It looked like Dean had put up some sort of block around himself, but a moment later the hunter was moving again, and Cas's vision flashed white as Dean's fist collided with his nose. He slid to sit on the ground when Dean released him. Blood was trickling down his face but he didn't try to wipe it away, not even when it slipped between his lips and made his mouth taste dirty and metallic.

"You're not going to say anything?" Dean rasped. "You have nothing at all to say to me?" Silence. "Dammit, say something!" His fingers fluttered over the half-formed scabs on his wrist, hesitated, then moved on.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Cas gasped. He saw Dean's fingers twitch towards his wrist and half sat up to stop him before he remembered that it wasn't his place to do so. So the angel slumped to the floor and breathed a sigh of relief when Dean passed over the sensitive skin without touching it. "I know I did a terrible thing, and I am not asking your forgiveness." They were the only words he could think of and Cas knew they weren't enough, but it was all his overwrought mind could come up with. Dean just stood silently, waiting for more, so Cas tried again. "I didn't want any of this to happen," he whispered, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Then how the hell  _did_ it happen?" Dean demanded. It was more comfortable to fight with Cas like this, his back to him, staring out into the room, but he forced himself to turn around, to squat in front of Cas confrontationally. Cas's words didn't help. A wild, reckless part of Dean wanted to kill Cas, the same part that made him want to storm out of the cabin into the snow and not stop until he was in the Impala and driving as fast as the car went, not caring about anything else. That part wouldn't mind if he swerved off the road and hit a tree. At the same time, he didn't even want to talk anymore, just wanted to leave this place and find a horizontal surface that he hadn't been near in the last forty-eight hours, a place untarnished by painful memories, and sleep.

"I don't know." Cas's voice was small and broken and he found himself staring up at Dean again, helplessly, unable to look away. He caught the murderous glint in Dean's eyes because it was what he had been looking for; the fallen angel was actually surprised it hadn't been there sooner. "My Grace is gone, Dean," he admitted softly, "as if it never was. You don't need an angel blade to kill me now; any knife or gun will do."

The moment he spoke, he wished he could take it back. Not because he was afraid Dean really would kill him, no—his life was well within the bounds of what Dean could take from him. But whatever had just happened to Dean meant that something was still wrong with him, and if Dean killed Cas, there might not be a chance of fixing it. It was too late though, the words were out, and Cas could feel them expanding, filling the space between them. He kept his eyes locked with Dean's, accepting anything the hunter might choose to do with him.

Dean hesitated. No, no, he couldn't do that. He reached out and adjusted the collar around Cas's coat for a moment before his hands moved to Cas's throat of their own accord and started strangling the angel. Sam cried out and scrambled to his feet, but a moment later Dean pulled his hands away. "No," he hissed. "I'm not going to kill you." He stood up, walked to where Sam was now standing, then pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes. "Oh god," he said softly, the tears starting again. He had cried too much already, more tears than that bastard deserved, but he couldn't stop them. The only thing he could do was curve in his shoulders and try to keep them from shaking and betraying him to the angel.

Sam stared helplessly back and forth between his brother and Cas, unsure how to react. He was glad Dean wasn't really going to kill Cas... but wouldn't the angel deserve it if Dean did? He had been about to kill Sam and do worse than that to Dean, after all. It was only because of Clem that Sam wasn't just a broken corpse on the floor. Despite his anger, Sam knew that that wasn't completely true; Cas  _had_ helped him, once he was himself again. And he had done the same for Dean. But it was far too soon for Sam to feel any sympathy for the pathetic man in the corner. Wordlessly, Sam swept his brother into a hug. Dean's whole body was shaking with the effort of trying not to cry, and Sam was secretly glad of it because it disguised his own shoulder hitch. Just one sob, that was all he allowed himself. He couldn't let himself break down until things really were fixed.

Cas watched numbly as Sam held Dean, the shorter man folding into his brother's grasp, then closed his eyes because he had seen Dean cry too much in the past few days. It was bitterly ironic that he could remember every thought, every action with piercing clarity, where before he had struggled to remember even the most basic facts of his life. The fear in Dean's eyes when Cas held him in the circle of holy fire, the way his face had just shut down for a moment as though no one was home before lighting up with mindless worship moments later—the images played over and over in Cas's head until he wished he were dead. If only he could leave; he knew that Dean would want him to be as far away as possible, and he could hardly expect Sam to forgive him either. All that stopped him from trying to run was the knowledge that there was still something broken in Dean, something that Cas was responsible for.

He should tell Sam and Dean, if they didn't already realize that something was wrong. Cas was about to speak when it occurred to him that there wasn't anything he could do to help Dean right now. If they didn't know and he told them, they would demand that he fix it, and Cas couldn't do that. Once he figured out what was still broken, and how to repair it, he would talk to them.

"We need to get out of here," Sam said slowly when Dean pulled away from him, watching his brother carefully as Dean nodded slightly, eyes downcast. Then he glanced at Cas, who didn't seem to have any intention of moving from the floor where Dean had left him, and sighed. He wasn't sure how to handle the situation, but he knew he was the one who had to take control.

"Clem?" he called,and a moment later the girl poked her head around the corner from where she had probably been listening just outside the door. "Is Andy coming?"

"He should be here in about ten minutes," she replied, cautiously re-entering the room. She looked at the professor's corpse, grief clouding her expression. "What about Professor Johnson?"

"We should probably just stage a house fire. It would take care of all this too." Sam gestured vaguely at the remnants of the spell. He thought Clem was going to argue, but after a moment she nodded stiffly.

"What about him?" Her tone was a good deal harsher as she glared at Cas.

Sam looked at the angel too, trying to think logically. Cas hadn't been in his right mind. He had done terrible things to Dean, to all of them, but… he tried to fix it. And really, what option did they have? Leave him on the roadside to freeze? Burn him with the house? Sam had a sickening feeling that right now Cas would agree to that if Dean told him to. But Cas was their friend, or had been; Sam couldn't just leave him before they had sorted out everything that had happened. And the angel certainly didn't seem like much of a threat now anyway.

"Cas is gonna come with us," Sam decided out loud. All three of them stared, Cas in naked disbelief, Clem in alarm, and Dean in a rigid horror.

"Are you kidding me?" Clem demanded, eyes wide with fury. "After what he did to your brother?"

By the time Dean made himself move again—and really, what the hell was wrong with him?—Clem had already spoken up. He was relieved that Clem was on his side, but he couldn't believe Sam would act like everything was okay and Cas hadn't done anything wrong. "He's not coming."

"What else do you expect us to do with him? He's back to normal, Dean, and he healed us both once he knew what was going on." Sam frowned at his brother. "I'm not saying he has to stick with us forever, but we should at least give it a few days."

All Dean could do was stare at Sam and shake his head. "I don't want to be in the same  _country_  as him, let alone the same building."

"Dean—" Sam began, but Clem grabbed his arm, pulled him to one side, and began to speak softly and quickly.

"I know we don't know exactly what happened, but are you seriously forgetting all the shit that he did? You know. Making Dean do whatever he wanted. Trying to murder you. Getting in Dean's head and doing something that looked a hell of a lot like rape to—"

"Don't you dare say that," Dean said, voice tight and growing in volume. His face had gone pale and his hands were shaking where he'd clenched them into fists by his side. "You can't just—" his voice broke, and he shook his head violently. "It was a nightmare, you hear me? I had a goddamn nightmare!"

Cas flinched, curling in on himself with every example Clem gave. His mind was whirling, struggling to come up with some defense he could give, but of course there was none. Dean should have killed him. His actions were inexcusable. Even so, Cas couldn't help but glance up at him in concern when he faltered. Dean's face was rigid, eyes shining with tears, and, as Cas watched, his soul threw up its strange barrier again and Dean went still.

"Calm down, Dean!" Sam said, trying to keep his voice level. "Clem, this isn't helping. I mean, where is he gonna go? He's scared and alone; I'm not gonna just drop him off somewhere to die." Sam glanced over at Cas; it was a little strange talking about the angel like he wasn't sitting right there. Cas didn't seem to be paying them any attention though, just watching Dean with a distraught expression. Sam looked at his brother too and saw that Dean was eerily motionless. "Dean?"

Dean couldn't get his body to move for a long several seconds, and when he did, he flinched back from his brother. "What does it matter where he goes?" he demanded.

"Dean, he didn't know what he was doing."

"How the hell do you know that?" Dean didn't look away from Sam, but nervously kept track of Cas in the corner of his vision.

"Come on, man. You really think Cas would do that on purpose?  _Cas?_  You said he came because he was worried about you." Sam hesitated, remembering the rest of what Dean had said in that conversation. "He did come to help, didn't he?"

Dean turned away from his brother and nodded sharply.

"And then he got hit by that spell, somehow. Was he all right until then?" Cas shifted, but when Sam glanced at him he was still sitting right where Dean had left him, staring at the floor. Dean also moved when Cas did, jerking around to face him.

"I don't know why we're even having this conversation," Dean said harshly, looking right at Cas. "What does it matter?" It shouldn't matter.

"So he was acting normal then," Sam said. Dean didn't contradict him, which was as much of a confirmation as he was going to get from his brother. "Listen, Dean," he started, then paused. "You said it yourself, before. Cas was gone; that was something else."

Dean clenched his jaw and balled his fists. His mind wavered for a second and he got stuck staring at Cas's knee. He didn't want to do this, didn't want to have this conversation, and Sam had no right to stand there and practically demand that Dean forgive Cas. Throw his broken words back at him and call them truth.

Sam wished he could could be as sure as he sounded about Cas. On the one hand he clearly remembered all the times Dean had corrected him, saying, "That isn't Cas," and the way Cas had snapped back to his old self the moment the spell was broken. And yet… He saw Dean's eyes go blank for a few seconds before refocusing on Cas, and frowned. It looked like Cas might have permanently damaged Dean, and shouldn't the angel be held accountable for that regardless?

"Don't you dare tell me what I said," Dean growled. "It wasn't me talking and you damn well know it." He was done with this conversation, done with all of them and he stalked away from the group, rolling his shoulders and stepping around the professor's remains. As he was passing into the foyer, Clem reached for his arm, face lined with concern. "Back off," he said, pushing past her. He found the door, opened it, and stepped outside. The cold blasted through his flannel shirt—Sam's flannel shirt—and he shivered.  _Damn Maine_. The snow hadn't been cleared from the stoop but he waded through it, the white powder clinging to his jeans where they were pulled over his boots.  _Damn everything._ He sighed, exhaling frosted air, and then stared at the white expanse of snow unblinkingly.

Sam glanced at Clem, wanting to follow his brother out into the snow but unwilling to leave Cas. The girl gave him a tight smile and jerked her chin after Dean, then eased herself onto the back of the sofa, facing Cas, and crossed her ankle into her lap to examine it more closely. Sam made a mental note to look at it himself when they got back and make sure she got it wrapped properly, then followed his brother outside. Dean was just gazing off into space, that peculiar no-one-at-home look back on his face. Sam walked up and stood next to Dean, not saying a word, just waiting for Dean to come back to reality and say something.

Dean glanced away from the snow, looking up at the sky for a moment, and shivered. "It's cold," he said, "but don't tell me to go back inside where it's warm. I don't want to be anywhere near him right now. Especially with you being a complete asshole." He shoved his numbing fingers deep into his pockets and curled up his shoulders against the wind, not looking at his brother.

"Complete asshole is a little harsh," Sam commented softly. He glanced sidelong at his brother. "And of course you're cold, you're wearing a flannel in Maine in February." Sam paused for a moment, then asked carefully, "So, how do you feel?"

"Like crap," Dean snapped. "How the hell do you expect me to feel?"

"I don't know, better than you did before?" Sam knew that Dean just wanted to be left alone, but Cas was probably still sitting on the floor in a heap of rumpled clothing waiting to die, and the thought of it made Sam uncomfortable. "You look more… you."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, well, turns out it kind of sucks to be me." Then he sighed because he was probably being childish. "What do you want me to say, Sam? That everything is all sunshine and daisies now that I'm not Castiel's bitch anymore? Now that I've got good old free will again, is everything supposed to be better? 'Cause it's not, Sam. It freaking hurts." He scuffed at the snow with his boot. "Now that you've fulfilled your brotherly duty to check on me, do you mind getting the hell out of my face for more than two seconds?"

"No," Sam answered shortly, shrugging out of his outer jacket and shoving it at Dean until his brother took it.

A car slowed down in front of the house, then stopped. Andy hopped out, slinging his hands into the pockets of his down jacket and walking up toward them. "What are you guys doing outside?" he demanded as he approached. "It's ten degrees!" He paused a few steps away, looking between the two of them. When he focused on Dean, the hunter stiffened. Just what he needed. An idiot kid to come and make snarky comments at him. To his surprise, Andy just stared at him for so long that Dean finally snapped, "What the hell are you looking at?"

"Nothing. I see you're back to cursing as your standard form of greeting."

"Shut up, asshole," Dean said and trudged past him, making a beeline for the shotgun seat. No way in hell was he going to be stuck in the back with Cas.

"Hey." Sam pulled Andy aside as the boy tried to walk around him to get in the house. "Don't give them a hard time, okay?  _Any_  of them. We've all been through way too much to be taking shit from you today." Andy glared at him and tugged his arm out of Sam's grasp, storming into the house. With a sigh, Sam headed for the car, then changed his mind and followed Andy inside. The way things were, he wasn't sure Cas would leave the house if he didn't go back in for him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna keep putting this out there: TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF HARM. DEAN IS NOT OKAY. Also warning cause Dean has anxiety attacks and generally is in horrible headspace for a long time here.

**Chapter 14**

**“With your heart like a stone you spared no time in lashing out.  And I knew your pain and the effect of my shame, but you cut me down.”**   
**~ _Holland Road_ , Mumford and Sons**

 A few minutes later Andy came out of the house with one arm around Clem, half supporting her as she tried not to put weight on her ankle.  She kept nervously glancing behind her, which made sense when Cas emerged shortly after her.  Sam was trying to offer some support, but Cas kept pushing him away, clearly unwilling to let anyone help him. When Cas saw Dean sitting up front he immediately angled himself toward the opposite corner of the car.  Dean felt a pathetic little flash of gratefulness, which he angrily squashed.  Damn right Cas should stay away.  With some uncomfortable shuffling and squeezing, everyone was in the car.  Sam ended up in the middle of the back seat, with Cas behind Andy and Clem behind Dean and his knees tucked uncomfortably high. No one spoke as they pulled away from the house.

Dean appreciated the silence, and he focused on a smudge on the windshield, letting the car fade away for a moment.  Or thought he’d only done so for a moment, but the next time he blinked the clock read ten minutes later.  He shifted uncomfortably and sighed.

“Well aren't you all just a joy to be around,” Andy muttered, ignoring the kick that Sam delivered to the back of his seat.  “I’m detouring for McDonalds.  Anyone want to tell me exactly what went down in Oz?  You know, apart from the professor's heart burning out, Dean getting his brain, and Castiel turning into the cowardly lion?”

“We got there, found out the professor was possessed, Cas blasted the professor when he was going to hurt us, and I messed up his spell,” Clem said shortly.  “Then Cas put Dean back together.  That’s all.”

“Sure,” Andy said, turning the wheel sharply to pull into the McDonalds, hitting the curb slightly and jostling all the passengers.  He maneuvered to the drive-through window and stopped short.  “I’m supposed to believe that that’s all that happened when you guys are making it colder in this car than it is outside.”  He paused.  “Orders.  And I’ll pay right now, but you all have to pay me back.  Starving college student.”  He rolled down the window and ordered a Big Mac and Coke.  Then he looked at Dean.  “What do you want?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Get Dean a cheeseburger.  He'll eat it later," Sam interjected.  When Dean turned to glare at him, Sam glared right back.  “You still haven't really eaten today, Dean; don't push it.”  Clem ordered chicken nuggets and sprite, Sam a salad and water (which earned him a disdainful snort from Andy), and Cas still didn't say a word.  Sam sighed and got him a regular hamburger.  The drive-through lady was polite, but thoroughly puzzled by the sullenness of the car's occupants. It probably didn’t help that most of the people in the car had blood all over them, Sam realized as they pulled away.  He knew they should be concerned that she might call the cops, but it seemed like just one too many unnecessary worries at the moment. They ate their food in determined silence, and even Dean took a few grudging bites of his cheeseburger.

“So,” Clem asked, breaking the heavy stillness.  “What are we going to do when we get back?  I mean, is this it, did we win?”

The two bites of cheeseburger Dean took to placate his brother made him nauseous, so he wrapped the rest of it up and put it back in the bag.  He’d throw it away later.  “Yes,” he said shortly, “we won.”  He laughed, earning him uncomfortable looks from the backseat.  “What’s gonna happen is you and your friends are going to pack up your junk and go back to school.  Put hunting aside.  Sam’s gonna drive back to Connecticut and take his tests and get back to his normal life.  I’ll hang around up here for a while, take care of—” He fell silent for a moment without meaning to and stared at a wrinkle in the leg of his jeans.  “—any other scary-ass, overpowered monsters that are still using the remnants of that spell.  As for Cas, I don’t give a damn what he does as long as he gets out of my life.”  He squeezed his eyes shut.

Cas cringed at Dean's words even though they were what he had been expecting.  It still hurt to hear them out loud, to watch in the rearview mirror as Andy's eyes flickered up to meet his, one eyebrow raised.   _Don't say anything,_ he pleaded silently.   _Please just let it be._

“Aww, lover's spat?” Andy asked sweetly.  Cas closed his eyes and turned his face away in shame.

“Pull over,”  Dean snapped, without opening his eyes.

“Why? You’re not gonna puke in my car, are you?”

“Just do it!”

Grumbling, Andy jerked the car over the rumble strips into the shoulder.  Dean waited until the car was almost stopped before suddenly turning and slugging Andy across the face.  Then he leaned back against the headrest and watched Andy out of the corner of his eye, something ugly that he chose to call satisfaction settling in his chest.

“What the hell was that?” Andy yelled, wincing as he touched the already swelling flesh around his eye.

“You need to learn when to shut the hell up,” Dean growled. “Next time I’m just gonna hit you while you’re driving.”

“You can’t just do that to people!”  Andy craned over his shoulder to glare at Sam.  “Control your brother,” he snapped.

“Like hell he’ll control me,” Dean said.  He opened the car door.  “I’m walking.”

Sam leaned forward and got a fist-full of Dean's shirt before he could stand, pulling him back into the car.  “Stop it, Dean, you don't even know where we are!  And you—” he turned to Andy. “Being angry doesn't give you a license to be an asshole, so just shut up and drive.”  

“Andy, please.”  Clem spoke up, and when Sam looked over he saw her watching Cas nervously.  The angel was shrinking lower in his seat, fingers tapping noiselessly along the armrest.  “Can we just turn on the radio and drive back?  Nobody's really up for talking right now, but I promise I'll tell you later.”

“You won’t tell him a damn thing,” Dean said, pulling his legs back in and slamming the car door.  “I don’t need this bastard knowing anything more about my life than he already does, I mean it, Clem.”  

“I’m not driving if this maniac is sitting up here,” Andy proclaimed loudly over Dean.  “He can sit next to his boyfriend.”

“Both of you shut up!” Sam yelled, and miraculously they obeyed.  “Andy, please just drive.”

“Not until this psycho is in the backseat,” Andy insisted.  Sam rubbed a hand over his face.  Why couldn't Jenny have been the one to get them, or Keith?

“Fine.  Cas, get out, you're riding shotgun.”

The angel jerked and stared at Sam with wide eyes.  “Sam, I am really not comfortable with—”

“That makes five of us then, now out!” Sam interrupted.  “Dean, you're back here with me.”  When neither of them moved, he groaned.  “For god's sake, you can't survive another fifteen minutes in a different seat?”

“Fine,” Dean said loudly and opened the door, kicking the bag with his cheeseburger out in the process.  He nudged it under the car with his foot then walked around the car, his heart tight in his chest because Cas was getting out of the car too.  They would pass as they walked, and Dean didn’t want to be that close to him, but Cas saw Dean heading towards the front of the car and went around the back.  So they stayed a safe distance apart, not looking at each other, and they both got back into the car.  As Dean slid in next to Sam, he kicked the back of Andy’s seat, making him jump and whirl around to glare.

“If you do that while I’m driving, I’ll—”

“I won’t, now just go.”  Dean crossed his arms over his torso, his anger fading and leaving behind an ache in his chest.  The seat was warm from where Cas had been sitting and he wanted it to annoy him, but it didn’t.  Being annoyed required too much energy.  Actually, all of this required too much energy and now he was squished in the car with his moose of a brother taking up too much space and a bunch of people around who he didn’t even want to look at, so he closed his eyes to shut all of them out.  But with his eyes closed, Dean couldn’t fight the  exhaustion that overtook him almost immediately.  He slept.

Sam glanced over at Dean and was pleased to see that he had fallen asleep.  His brother needed it.  Cas was silent too, but Sam could tell by the tension in his shoulders that he was awake, although he made no attempt to interact with anyone.  Clem kept almost nodding off, but then she would jerk back upright and glance at the back of Cas’s head.  The remainder of the drive passed in silence, Andy not even bothering to turn on the radio.  For his part, Sam watched the road roll under the tires and wondered how on earth they were going to fix things.

 

Dean woke when the car stopped moving.  Well, he tried to wake up when the car stopped moving, but he couldn’t get his eyes open or move his limbs.  He was trapped and internally he started to panic, shedding sleepiness but not the lethargy of his body. He couldn’t wake up.

Then Sam shook his shoulder gently.  “We’re here, Dean,” he said softly.

Sam.  Some of the tension ebbed from his body because he knew that if his brother there, he was safe, but fear still churned in his stomach and he couldn’t force his eyes open  

“Dean?  Can you hear me, man?”  A firmer shake, this time, and an undercurrent of concern in Sam’s voice.  Strangely, his brother’s fear grounded Dean, and the last of his panic faded into a more manageable nervousness.  His eyes flew open and he jumped, nearly knocking his head against his brother’s.

Sam jerked back as Dean burst into consciousness like a drowning man surfacing.  “Whoa, take it easy, man. Just waking you up cause we're here.”  He scanned his brother’s face in concern, noting the unease there.  “You have a nightmare or something?”  A blast of cold air swirled around them, and looked up to see Cas out of the car and already at the door.  When Jenny opened it she said something that made Cas cringe, and then he disappeared into the cabin.  On Sam's other side, Clem glanced between Dean and the house uncertainly.  

“Should I…?” she asked, and Sam nodded.

“Go on, I've got Dean.”  Clem nodded back and followed Cas into the house, Andy following close behind.  Sam turned to his brother, who was breathing quickly, wide-eyed.  “Hey, calm down.  You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said, concentrating on getting out of the car and not hyperventilating.  “I just wasn’t expecting to wake up with your face inches from me.  Your breath stinks.”  He left the door open for Sam, but didn’t bother to wait for his brother to get out of the car too.

Sam didn’t really believe it, but he didn’t comment again as he followed Dean up to the door.  They were greeted by Jenny, who smiled at Dean.

“I hear you're doing better?” she asked carefully.

Dean gave her a tense smile.  “Just peachy.  Thanks.”  She held the door for him as he passed back into the cabin.  The place had been cleaned up.  Jenny, Keith, and Andy must have spent a considerable amount of time on the sigils because they were scraped off the windowpanes.  The fire was still comfortably burning, and all the kids’ stuff was packed up in bags by the door.  “So are you guys heading out?” Dean asked Keith as he made his way for the sofa and sat there.

“Yeah.  We’ve got homework and stuff,” he said.  “Not to mention that we missed class on Friday.  And if you guys have everything sorted out…”  He shrugged.  “No point in sticking around and taking up space.”

Dean chewed his lip.  “How long do you think me and my brother could camp out here before someone reports us for trespassing?  My place is pretty wrecked right now, and I need a bit of time before I can rent a new one.”

Jenny shrugged.  “Probably a while.  People don’t head out here in the winter much; it’s more of a spring and fall sort of place because of the lake, you know?”  Dean hadn’t even noticed there was a lake.  “In the winter it never gets cleared off, so you can’t skate or anything on it, and then there’s the fact that no one really wants to chop wood and the place doesn’t stay warm without a fire, so…”  She laughed.  “College laziness will give you at least until next weekend.”

Dean nodded and sighed.  Hopefully it wouldn’t take too much time to get sorted out and leave.  He closed his eyes then opened them immediately, flitting them to focus on the corners of the room, obsessively checking and double checking for that dirty trenchcoat as if he didn’t trust his own vision, but thankfully Cas was nowhere to be seen.  Rubbing the little cuts on his wrist absently, he reminded himself that Cas was probably just hiding somewhere.  He was still around.  Dean shuddered.

Sam thanked the others for their help and for the food they had graciously left, helped them get their stuff to the car, and saw them off as fast as he could after promising to call Clem when he could and let her know what was happening.  In a way it was a relief to see them all leaving, because it meant that he didn't have to worry about anyone else anymore, but at the same time Sam dreaded going back inside to face Dean and Cas.  The wind bit through his thin shirt, and he finally retreated with a sigh.  Dean was still sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at the corner of the hearth.  He didn’t react as Sam came in or when he made his way to the couch and sat next to him.

“Dean?” Sam asked quietly.  His brother didn’t respond for a few seconds, then blinked suddenly and glanced around.  He seemed surprised that Sam was sitting next to him, as though he had been expecting Sam to be somewhere else.  “So…” Sam trailed off, ducking his head to run his fingers through his hair, which he discovered was still a little bloody. Awesome. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

“What what was about?”  Dean hadn’t noticed his brother sit down.  How the hell had he not noticed Sam sit down?  He paused his thumb on his wrist from where he’d been rubbing, then forced his hand away from it and put both hands palm down on his knees to hide his wrists.  Just another thing to be ashamed of from all this.  And now he got to play twenty questions with his little brother. His favorite.  He wondered how long he’d have to sit here before Sam would let him go back to sleep.

But then he remembered the frightening darkness and his inability to wake, and he wondered if sleeping would actually be a bad idea.  Was he angelically concussed or something?  Maybe he could Google it.  As if Google would have any answers to “An angel tore up my brain and now I can’t wake myself up, what should I do?”  He curled his hands into loose fists on his legs.

“The staring off into space thing,” Sam answered.  He was so not going to take any crap from his brother on this.  “The waking up like you thought you weren't going to.  Is this still leftovers from… before?”  Sam wished he could make his voice steadier, but he had just noticed that Dean was rubbing his wrist.  Not scratching it—there were no new cuts—but pressing and pulling until the pale skin was flushed red.  “If you tell me what's wrong, I might be able to help.  I know a thing or two about dealing with mental scarring, remember?”

“Nothing’s wrong, okay?” Dean said harshly.  “I’m fine, I’m just completely exhausted, and my head is killing me.  I want to sleep, that’s all.”  Yeah, Dean remembered.  But that didn’t mean he was going to share.  Besides, it wasn’t like he had the devil running around in his brain.  It wasn’t like he had memories from the Pit burning through.  And if he didn’t say anything to Sam, then he didn’t have to admit that he wasn’t just spacing out because he was tired and that waking up the way he had hadn’t just been a dream or a fluke.  No, everything was fine.  He just needed sleep.  A lot of it.

Sam snorted.  “I would be more willing to let you sleep if I was sure you were gonna wake up in the morning.  Come on, Dean, you didn't even notice me sitting down next to you.  I don't care how tired you are, that's not right.”

“Dammit, Sam, not everything I do is evidence of a major psychological problem, okay?  I’m fine!”  Dean leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and resting his face in his hand.  His voice grew soft.  “I was spacing out a little bit and I wasn’t paying attention when you sat down, that’s all.  And in the car I was just having a bad dream.  Thought I had woken up but couldn’t move or open my eyes.  It’s nothing to worry about.”

“That's crap,” Sam stated flatly, “But unfortunately you're just gonna keel over in a minute whether there’s something wrong or not, so just go to sleep.  You remember where the bedroom is, yeah?”  Sam cringed internally as he spoke, wondering if Dean would remember what almost happened to him there.  God he really hoped not.  “Or there's the room the kids were sleeping in if you like bunk beds better,” he added hastily.

“My memory is fine, Sam,” Dean said, standing.  He was about to walk to the bedroom and then paused.  “You know,” he said slowly, “I always wanted bunk beds when we were kids.  Not that we were ever in one place long enough to have them.”  He gave his brother a sideways smile because he knew he wasn’t fooling him.  “So, I was thinking, I don’t know if my kid self would ever forgive me if I didn’t take the opportunity to sleep in a top bunk when I have a chance.  You know?”

“Yeah.”  Sam  followed Dean down the hall, mind churning through what he should have done and what he had to do now.  He was so preoccupied that when Dean pushed open the door to the kids' room and froze, Sam walked right into him. Over his head, Sam saw Cas sitting on one of the beds with his head bowed. The angel looked up at the intrusion and went still when he saw Dean standing there.

 

Cas had been sitting quietly, as out of the way as he could be and planning with vicious masochism how he would get as far from Dean as he could when he was strong enough to go. The sound of the door interrupted him and he looked up to see Dean standing there, obviously far too close to Cas for his own comfort. His eyes were wide and, even though bitter exhaustion clouded them, Cas could see the burning rage and betrayal in them.

It startled him and he reacted instantly, trying to get away and put Dean at ease. Instinct took hold and the angel tried to fly away, throwing his body into the between space on wings that he remembered too late were too weak to fly. The room around him dissolved into nothingness for a split second, and agony lanced through Cas’s shoulders as though he had broken something.  The angel rode out the pain and opened his eyes to see dusty floorboards and Dean's borrowed, too-big shoes. His mind was still blank with confusion and pain, and Cas found himself unable to do more than lay there and gasp for air.

Before Sam or Dean could say a word Cas shot to his feet and then—between one breath and the next—flickered from view and reappeared on the floor at Dean's feet, shaking. He was curled up on his side, but that only made the blood slowly soaking through the back of his trench coat more apparent.  Dean didn't move, frozen with shock or maybe just spacing out again, so Sam pushed past him and knelt at Cas’s side.

“What the hell was that, Cas?  Shit!”  Sam's hands hovered uncertainly over Cas’s back, afraid to touch and cause the angel more pain.  Finally he settled for grabbing Cas’s shoulder and shaking gently, trying to get a response.  “Are you okay?”

“No Grace,” Cas panted, finding his voice.  The shock was worse than the pain, but complete sentences were still beyond him.  He couldn’t fly, of course not.  Stupid.  “Flew away.  Sorry, Dean.”  He tried to glance up at the hunter then quickly returned his gaze to Dean’s boots.  His very presence made Dean uncomfortable; Cas shouldn't look at him.

Dean stared wide-eyed at the angel on the floor before him, and almost without conscious thought one hand crept down to his pocket, where there was still a shard of glass.  The bite of it against his fingertips was reassuring, although he knew it shouldn’t be.  He couldn’t look away, couldn’t back out of the room like he’d originally wanted to, just stared at the terrifying bloody stripes on the coat, evidence of some inexplicable injury.  “Sam,” he said slowly.  “His wings.  Did his wings just get ripped off?”  He remembered the first time he’d seen Cas, the way his wings had stretched shadows on the wall of the barn, and he clenched the broken glass tighter.  “I’ll get bandages,” he mumbled and left the room, but he didn’t go straight for the bandages.  Instead, he found himself standing motionlessly in the living room.  For a moment, he wasn’t sure why he’d decided to stop there, and he tried to step towards Sam’s bag, where he was sure there were bandages, but he couldn’t.  He was fixed in place like someone had hit the pause button on his life, but he could hear Sam shifting and Cas’s ragged breathing in the other room.  He couldn’t do anything but stand there.  Why couldn’t he move?  His heart was thudding too fast in his chest, his lungs expanding and compressing, keeping him alive, but he couldn’t control the steady rate of his breathing or make his muscles listen to him.  He couldn’t open his mouth to scream.  

As the seconds ticked by, Dean felt a twinge in his fingers, still locked around the glass.  It was almost comforting, a reminder that he was still alive even though he couldn’t move.  Like magic, the thought brought mobility back, and before he could think too hard about what he was doing Dean had the glass out of his pocket and digging into his arm.  The pain was a comfort, repairing the unresponsiveness of his limbs.  He pulled the glass away, then cut another line into his forearm, slightly higher than the initial gash.

A moment later, Dean regretted the action, but not very much.  He could move, and the panicked, trapped feeling slowly ebbed away.  Sam would probably notice, though, and Dean wasn’t even going to try to explain himself to him again.  Damn.  He’d have to clean himself up so Sam wouldn’t see before getting anything for Cas.  Then he shook himself as he dug through Sam’s duffel.  Cas first.  He just had a stupid scratch or two on his wrist, but Cas…

He shouldn’t even give a damn about the angel but here he was, hurrying back to his brother with the bandages.  When he got into the room, Sam had tugged Cas’s coat off of him and was unbuttoning his shirt.  Dean dropped the bandages next to his brother and withdrew to the corner of the room, trying not to look at the angel.

Sam didn't even know where to begin, so he just started by getting the injury clear. Cas was wearing, as usual, a ridiculous amount of layers, and every time Sam shifted his arms to pull another layer off the angel made a soft noise of pain.  The stains were growing ominously as Sam got closer to Cas’s bare skin, and the hunter swallowed.  Dean came back with a handful of clean bandages (and Sam thought distractedly that at this point even he had to be running short) and left them by Sam's side.  To his surprise Dean didn't leave, although he did press into the corner of the room by the door as though ready to bolt any second.

Cas was shaking under his hands as Sam peeled back his shirt to expose two deep gashes parallel to his spine on either side, right where wings would be.  Sam sucked in a breath and slowly let it out.  This was so far beyond what he knew how to deal with. Again.

“Hey, Cas, can you hear me?” Sam asked softly, and the angel nodded, though his eyes were still unfocused. Running light fingers around the edges of the wounds, Sam determined that they were going to need stitches.  “Dean can you get the rest of the kit?  These are gonna need sutures.”

“Yeah,” Dean said faintly.  He kept his eyes on the floor as he walked out of the room, shuffling his feet.  In the kitchen he washed the blood from his wrists off his hands and quickly bandaged himself, pulling his shirtsleeves all the way down.  Then he grabbed the kit and went back to his brother.  He held his breath and squatted down next to Sam and Cas.  “If you need help,” he said slowly.  He didn’t even know why he was offering.  He didn’t want to touch Cas, let alone do anything to make him hurt less. “Nevermind.”

Cas had very rarely experienced shock like this, and he was struggling to gather his scattered thoughts.  When he realized that Sam was talking to him, he nodded slowly, trying to focus on the hunter’s words and block out the panicked white noise filling his brain. Then Dean spoke and Cas tried to roll over, startled because he hadn’t realized how close the hunter was to him.

“Cas, you gotta lie down; I can't get this done right if you keep moving.”  Sam glanced from the prone angel to Dean.  “I could use the help,” he said in response to Dean’s quickly rescinded offer.  “But make up your mind quickly.”

Dean flinched and looked away from Sam and Cas, but he could still feel his brother’s heavy gaze on him for a long moment before it turned back to Cas.  Dean wanted to be angry with Sam.  How could his brother expect him to do _anything_ for the angel after what he’d put Dean through?  But instead, he felt a choking feeling of of guilt.  “I can’t,” he muttered, almost following up with “I’m sorry.”  But he wasn’t quite sure he was sorry about it, so he just bit his tongue and glanced back up at his brother.

Sam barely suppressed a sharp retort.  Dean was still fragile; he couldn’t be expected to be back to normal so soon, even if this was his best friend and briefly boyfriend that Sam was trying to bandage singlehandedly.  He refused to look up at Dean, checking instead to see if Cas was still conscious before carefully threading the needle and taking a deep breath.

“Cas?  I’m gonna stitch you up now, okay?”

The needle in Cas’s flesh barely hurt over the constant burn of his injured wings, but he forced his eyes open to stare at Dean.  Of course, the hunter couldn’t be expected to help, but why was he still in the room?

Sam worked as fast as he could as the tension in the room slowly climbed.  He wished Cas would stop watching Dean, but it seemed to be the only thing keeping the angel from passing out.  Sam bound off the thread and started on the left shoulder.  “You're doing good,” he reassured.  Cas didn’t respond, and he didn’t take his eyes off Dean.

Staying present took more effort than Dean had expected, and not just because a good part of him wanted to escape into a different room.  He was afraid he was going to freeze again and so tried to keep his breathing slow and steady, but Cas’s wavering gaze on him made his skin crawl.  It was too much, and he wished he could reclaim that momentary calm that came from the glass against his skin, but he couldn’t do that, not with Sam and Cas both right there.  As Sam finished stitching, he squeezed his eyes shut.  “Is he gonna be okay?” he asked.  At the thought that he might not be, Dean’s breath hitched a little and just like that, despite how hard he was concentrating, he felt his body go stiff again.

“I think so, but we should get him hydrated and some food to make up for the blood loss.” Sam turned away from Cas in time to see Dean slip away again, empty gaze fixed on the floor. “Dean?  Dean!”

Cas was letting his attention drift to take his mind off the uncomfortable feeling of getting sutures when his attention was drawn back to the present by Sam’s yelling.  He pushed himself to his elbows, forgetting that he was injured and that Dean didn't want his help anyway, and looked up to see Dean slumped against the wall, motionless.

Cas’s breath caught because behind Dean’s blank gaze, Dean’s soul was acting strangely again, walling itself off.  Before Cas could even think to do anything, Dean was back, as if he never left, but Cas trembled because it was his fault, all his fault and Dean was like this because of him.

Dean blinked and looked at his brother.  “Sorry,” he mumbled.  “Spaced out for a second.”  He looked down, trying to ignore both Sam and Cas staring at him.  “I’m fine, I think it’s just ‘cause I’m tired and haven’t really had anything to eat or drink and the blood…”  It wasn’t because of that.

"If you say so," Sam agreed doubtfully, glancing between his brother and Cas. "You think you could handle helping me get him bandaged?"

Cas saw Dean go pale at Sam’s suggestion, and said hurriedly, “I can sit up on my own, Sam.  Dean doesn’t need to help.”  Slower than he would have liked, Cas levered himself up  to a sitting position.  Belatedly, he realized that all the staring had to have been upsetting Dean, and he made an effort not to look back at the hunter.  It was harder than he would have thought.

Sam steadied Cas as best he could and tried to work as fast as possible, layering the cloth over the wounds carefully to make sure that the edges weren't going to get stuck or chafe.  After tucking in the end of the last bandage, he stood and half-lifted the angel to his feet.  It was only then that he noticed his brother had left the room.  Before he had time to panic, though, Sam heard the sound of the shower running in the bathroom and marginally relaxed.  Turning his attention back to Cas, Sam guided the angel to the lower bunk and got him settled on his stomach on the bed, pulling the blanket up to cover his bare torso.

“You should just stay in here for now and rest, okay? I don’t know what exactly you did to yourself, but you look exhausted, so try to get some sleep.  Try not to stretch your back too much.”

Cas didn’t answer, and when Sam leaned over to look at his face, the angel’s eyes were closed.  After waiting another moment for a response that never came, Sam said, “I’m going to be in the other bedroom with Dean, okay?  Yell if you need anything.”  Cas still said nothing, so Sam sighed and slowly made his way from the bedroom, closing the door behind him.  

 

Dean had managed to sneak from the room as Sam bandaged Cas, not able to find the words to tell his brother he was leaving.  Well, Sam would know where he found him.  It wasn’t like he was really going anywhere.  There was blood on the sleeves of the shirt he was wearing, and he knew he had to get that cleaned up if he wanted to avoid Sam noticing, so he made his way over to Sam’s bag.  There were a few things left in there.  Tee-shirt, long-sleeved shirt... enough for both of them to get another outfit.  Dean wished he had his own clothes, but they were in his ruined apartment and he couldn’t get there now.  He took the long sleeved shirt, a pair of pants, and, after a moment’s hesitation, some fresh bandages before walking to the bathroom.

He rinsed the blood from the sleeves of the shirt as best he could—he had plenty of experience with that by now—and then showered quickly, leaving the bandages he’d bloodied strewn on the floor.  The pounding of the water drowned out most of his thoughts until a panic made him freeze up for a few minutes, fingers up in his hair and soapsuds running into his eyes.  The door.  Had he locked it?  He needed it locked, even though he knew that the protection it gave was feeble at best.  Eventually, he could move again and immediately pulled the shower curtain aside and got out of the shower, still dripping soap and soaking the floor.  With trembling fingers, he turned the lock and let out a deep breath of relief.  

A few minutes later, Dean had finished his shower, carefully rewrapped his wrists, dressed, and mopped up the floor with his towel as best as he could.  Unlocking the door, he peeked his head out and, seeing Cas was nowhere to be found, as expected, shuffled into the bedroom where he’d spent the night before.  The one with bad memories.  At the door, he paused with his fingers against the lock for a long moment before letting them fall.  Sam.  If something _did_ happen and he needed Sam’s help, the locked door would only delay Sam.  It certainly wouldn’t hinder Castiel at all.  Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he made his way to the bed he hadn’t slept in and curled up into a ball, tucking his chin, putting his arms over his head, and longing for sleep.    

 

The shower had turned off sometime before Sam left Cas, and the bathroom door was ajar.  Hopefully Dean was already in bed.  Wandering into the front room, Sam checked the door to make sure it was locked, drew a hasty devil's trap in front of it (because with their luck god only knew what would come through that door next) and retrieved fresh clothes from his bag. Maybe tomorrow he would drive back to Dean's apartment and see what he could salvage, so his brother could be more comfortable in his own things. His shower was hurried, and then he slipped on his clean clothes and went to check on his brother.

Dean was curled in the fetal position on one of the beds, the unused one, and the instant Sam walked in he knew Dean was having nightmares.  His brother was twitching in his sleep, a fine sheen of sweat standing out on his face.  Sam didn't know if he should wake Dean up, didn’t know if he even could, or if Dean would want to face Sam if he woke up.  After a moment's indecision, Sam crawled into the bed next to Dean, curling around his brother protectively and wrapping his arms around him.  

“Shh, Dean, it's okay, you're safe,” he whispered.  Dean tossed his head nervously in his sleep, but when Sam began to hum some Kansas he calmed down, finally slipping into untroubled slumber.  Sam stayed where he was, giving his brother what little comfort he could and saying a prayer that the sleep would help Dean heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Been a while, we know, sorry! Thank you for sticking with us and for your kudos and comments. It gives us warm fuzzies knowing that you like the fic enough to wait for our shoddy update schedule!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “weekly update schedule” ~sitcom laugh track~ But whatever lack of an update schedule we have, oh look it updated! It’s extra long, at least.

**Chapter 15**

**“Don’t confront me with my failures.  I had not forgotten them.”  
** **~ _These Days_ , Jackson Browne**

 

When Dean opened his eyes, it was morning.  His early nightmares had faded into the most restful sleep he’d had in days.  As he slowly regained consciousness, he quickly became aware of someone else in bed with him and stilled, quieting his breathing.  A moment later he relaxed, though.  It was just Sam.  Then he rolled his eyes and bit his lip.  Sam was in bed with him, again.  Was that really necessary?  Elbowing Sam until he woke up and mumbled something, Dean asked, “Did you really lie here _spooning_ me the whole time I was sleeping?  Isn’t that a little weird?”  

“It's only weird if you make it weird, jerk,” Sam shot back, sitting up and stretching.  “Sleep well?”

Dean’s lips quirked into a slight smile.  “Bitch.”  Then he sighed.  “Yeah, better than expected.”  He glanced at his brother but didn’t say anything more.  

“Clem and the others left us some food, although since we let the college kids shop there isn’t a whole lot of green stuff.  Not that you'd care though, huh?  Mac'n'cheese sound good?”

“Sure, Sam,” Dean said, sitting up and waiting for his brother to get out of bed.  He supposed he should eat.  He took a breath as his brother stood, half not wanting to ask his question.  “What about Cas?” he said at last.  “I mean, is he doing all right?”

“Last time I checked, he was still sleeping,” Sam answered with a sideways glance at Dean.  It was good that Dean cared how Cas was, right?  Even if he was looking like he regretted asking?  “He's not bleeding anymore, though, and I got most of the mess cleaned up.  I didn't loom over you the _whole_ night, after all.”  

Actually Sam had only been able to leave Dean twice while he was sleeping—the first time he had just managed to check in on Cas to make sure he wasn’t feverish before he heard his brother's panicked mumblings and went back to soothe him, but the second time he managed to stay away for a solid twenty minutes and clean up the blood Cas had gotten on the floor.  Then Dean had yelled for him in his sleep and Sam had run back into the other bedroom to wrap himself around his brother again.  But Dean didn't need the details.  Sam hesitated a moment, then stood, offering, “You can go see him, if you want?”  

Dean stood too, taking the time to readjust his shirt and roll up the too-long pants just a little higher.  As he did so, he said, “Nah, it’s okay,” without looking at his brother.

“All right.”  There was no response, and when Sam glanced at his brother he realized that Dean was stuck, or whatever it was, bent double with his hands clenched on the cuff of his pants.  He quickly glanced at his watch to get a start time; maybe this was something that you had to keep track of, like a seizure disorder or something.  Besides, Sam just didn't know what else to do.  At least if he started timing the episodes he could figure out if they were getting better or worse.  Hesitantly, he reached out and put a hand on his brother’s back.  

“Dean?  You okay?”  There was no response, and when Sam ducked to look at his brother’s face, Dean’s eyes were open and vacant again like last time.  Unsure what else to do, Sam stood and watched the seconds tick by.  After twenty three seconds, Dean jerked back into motion, smoothing down his pants and straightening up.  He gave Sam a curious glance, as though he couldn't figure out why his brother was looking at him like that, and Sam frowned.

“Did you know that you just sort of spaced out again?” he asked, hoping Dean wouldn’t get annoyed.  He knew how much his brother hated talking about his problems, be they physical or mental, and this was looking like a little of both.  

“What?” Dean said, fiddling with his sleeve.  “No I didn’t.”  

“Man, this is serious, okay?  Do you really not remember or are you just trying to ignore it?  Because you spent almost half a minute staring at your toes, and I’m trying to figure out what we're dealing with here.”  Sam's eye was caught by a flash of white as Dean adjusted the too-long shirtsleeves, and he grabbed his brother’s arm, pushing back the sleeve before Dean could pull away. His heart sank when he saw the fresh bandages.

“You're still doing that?  I thought…”  Sam trailed off because honestly he hadn't known why Dean started in the first place.  He had assumed that it was a side effect of being warped by Castiel’s Grace, a way for the old Dean to fight back, but now Sam wasn't so sure.  “Why?”

Dean pulled his arm out of Sam’s hands and walked from the room.  “It’s fine, Sam,” he growled.  He tugged his sleeve back over the bandage and made his way to the kitchen.  “Nothing to worry about.”

“Come on, man, don't give me this crap!” Sam argued, following his brother from the room.  “You're hurting yourself, and you can't even tell me why?  And you still didn't say whether or not you actually remember checking out back there.”  Sam ran a hand through his hair and had to resist the urge to pull it in frustration.  Why did Dean have to be so stupid sometimes?  “I'm worried about you, Dean,” he admitted quietly.  “If this were the other way around you'd be freaking interrogating me about it, so why can't I do the same to you?”

Dean went to the cabinets and started opening and closing them until he found a stack of glasses.  He took one out, filled it with water, then turned around to face his brother, leaning on the counter.  “Look,” he said shortly.  “I didn’t notice anything back there, okay?”  He brought the glass to his lips and took a tiny sip of water before making a face and lowering it back down.  He sighed.

“And your arms?” Sam pressed, crossing his own.  If Dean wanted Sam to stop pestering him, he should just answer the first time and then Sam would let him be.

Dean paused and took another sip of water.  “Sorry,” he said at last.  “Looks like I picked up a bad habit.”

“Seriously, Dean?” Sam couldn’t believe his brother.  “You call that a _bad habit_?  Chewing your nails is a bad habit, okay?  Forgetting to lock the car is a bad habit.  You're cutting!”

“What do you want me to say?” Dean demanded.  “The pain’s so bad inside me that I need it to hurt on the outside too?  I hate myself and causing myself pain makes me feel better?  I feel like I have no control of my life anymore and this is the only thing that puts me in control?  It’s all crap, Sam.”  He took a gulp of water and then spat it in the sink.  “Goddamnit, don’t we have anything stronger than this?”

“No, we don't have anything stronger, and if we did I damn well wouldn’t be letting you drink it.” Sam knew he was addressing the wrong part of Dean's words, but he didn't know how to answer the rest of it.  “Just… it's not good for you, Dean.  Promise you'll try to stop?”

Dean shrugged and put the glass in the sink.  “Sure.”  Looking up at his brother from under raised eyebrows, he said,  “Shouldn’t you go check on Cas, or are you gonna make me do it?”

Sam bit back a sharp retort.  After putting the pot on to boil, he finally trusted himself to answer in a relatively calm way.  “You know what, Dean, why _don’t_ you check on him?  I’ll be right here getting breakfast ready.”  

Dean didn’t leave, though, just stood still, his two fingers resting on the counter and the other hand in a loose fist over his stomach. He watched Sam as he fished around for things to cook with, half waiting for Sam to tell him not to.  Because Dean _would_ go check on Cas, dammit he would, if only just to save face.  But he didn’t want to go in there, didn’t want to see Cas, let alone say anything to him if he was conscious.  He chewed his lip and flattened his palms against his thighs.  Standing here, watching his brother bustle through the kitchen as if nothing was wrong, part of him wanted to slice into his wrists again too.   _Look at me, Sam.  Not hurting myself, just like you wanted, now give me a break._  But he wasn’t going to say that.  Instead he turned and walked toward the bedroom.

He paused with a hand on the doorknob. “You’re a dick, you know that?” he said to his brother, and then, without waiting for a reply, he opened the door and stepped into the bedroom.  He left it open behind him and didn’t leave the door frame for a long moment.  Checking over his shoulder to make sure Sam was still right there, _right there_ , he took several steps in and paused.  The angel was sitting up, watching him enter the room.  “Cas,” he said, clearing his throat.  “I’m supposed to—”  And then couldn’t talk and stared blankly at the corner of the pillow behind Cas.  Five seconds.  Ten.  Thirty.  Sixty.  And this time he was aware of being stuck, right in the middle of Cas’s room, and Cas was awake and knew he was here and he couldn’t call Sam and he couldn’t get the hell out of there.

 

Cas tore out of his restless sleep to find the room empty, which was a relief; he didn’t want to see either Winchester right now.  His back had dulled to a deep ache that gave sharp reminders of what he had done.  He remembered Sam telling him that he was in the other room with Dean if Cas needed anything, but disregarded the words.  He would not disturb the brothers any more than was necessary.

Cas’s body was weak and unfamiliar, and he knew it was because his Grace was truly gone now.  Whether the spell he had been under had damaged him beyond repair, or whether his actions had finally caused him to fall that last fatal bit, Cas didn't know, but he supposed it didn't matter at this point.  He was human now.  Cas’s stomach growled loudly, reminding him that his human body had human needs.

Carefully, Cas rolled onto his side, slowly, trying not to pull the stitches on his back.  They felt too tight and he was afraid his skin was going to tear open.  He sat slowly, swinging his feet out of bed.  After a brief wave of dizziness, he decided that he could risk standing and walking to the kitchen to find food.  Then the door swung open and Dean was standing there.

The fallen angel tensed immediately, sending a warning wash of pain through his back that kept him from making the mistake of trying to fly again.  Instead he just sat there, trying to look as nonthreatening as he could.  Why was Dean here?  Had Sam sent him, or had he come on his own?  Why?  The man before him was clearly scared and angry, and Cas could do nothing to soothe him.  Dean began to speak, and then… Cas saw the moment he froze.  Only it was different this time because Dean was still there behind his frozen gaze; Cas could see it. He waited for Dean to come back to himself, but the seconds stretched on and he didn’t.  Fear was growing in Cas now, fear that he could see mirrored in Dean's eyes, and he shifted uncertainly.  Was Dean like this because of him?  Literally paralyzed by Cas’s presence?

“Dean, I think you can hear me,” he began, keeping his voice as soft and nonthreatening as he could.  “It's okay, Dean, please just calm down.  I won't hurt you.  I swear I will never hurt you again; I won't even touch you again.  You're safe, Dean, so please just come back, I know you can do it.”  Cas didn't move from his seat on the bed, keeping his hands on the mattress beside him, staring past Dean instead of directly at him, making every effort to look as harmless as he was.

Dean’s heart pounded in his chest as Cas tried to reassure him, to calm him, but he didn’t understand—Dean couldn’t just snap out of this.  He was trapped more surely than if he were caged.  And Cas had the gall to think that this was in Dean’s control when Cas— _Castiel_ —was the one who _did_ this to him.  And he couldn’t get out.  He could just barely see Cas out of the corner of his eye, not even able to look at him, but at least he knew where the angel was.  Because he didn’t know if he could bear it if Cas came over here, even to try to help him.  Then he heard someone—Sam?—come in the room behind him.

 

Sam knew he was being unreasonable.  He was aware, painfully so, of how Dean waited for a few moments, hoping he would take it back, before turning away.  Pretending to ignore his brother, Sam retrieved the box of pasta and tore it open with a little more force than was strictly necessary.  Maybe if Dean wasn't always so damn stubborn… but Sam was tired. Tired of trying to make his brother talk to him and tired of dealing with things he didn't understand.  Dean's soft words carried across the room, and Sam cringed.   _I know I'm a dick_ , he answered silently.   _But maybe you should have just swallowed your pride and said you didn't want to go, idiot_.  He heard the door to Cas’s room open and sighed.  As if Dean would be that mature.

Sam pulled dishes from the cabinet and set them on the table.  The little internal clock that had been running since Dean left told him it had been almost two minutes, and Sam stood back from the table, frowning.  If Cas was asleep, Dean should have been back by now.  If he was awake, Dean would probably have been back a hell of a lot sooner.  Sam listened and could make out the low rumble of Cas’s voice, which meant the angel was up, but no other sound.  No doors slamming or angry retorts from Dean, and that had Sam worried.   _Cas can't_ do _anything to him now_ , he reminded himself firmly.  The angel was back to normal, and totally drained besides.  Dean was perfectly safe.

Ten seconds later Sam was out of the kitchen and striding towards the bedroom because he had been stupid and childish making Dean go in there after what he'd been through, and if something had happened to his brother it would be Sam's fault.  He saw Dean's back and half-sighed in relief before he recognized the unnatural stillness.  Shit.  Dean was spacing out, and had been for who knows how long.  He hurried into the room, glancing at Cas because the angel had gone silent now and was just watching with sad eyes.

“How long has he been like this?” Sam demanded, stepping around Dean to block his view of Cas.  His brother didn't respond to Sam snapping his fingers in his face, and Sam carefully gripping his shoulders brought no reaction either.  “Dean, can you hear me, man?  Come on, snap out of it!”

“He can't snap out of it, but I believe he can hear us,” Cas responded softly.  “He's been like that for several minutes.”

“You know what's wrong with him?”  Sam twisted his head to stare out of the angel.

“I can guess.”  Cas kept his gaze fixed on the floor.  “Dean's soul is very fragile right now.  When he is in a high stress situation, I believe he subconsciously shuts himself down in an attempt to prevent any further harm.”

“You're shitting me,” Sam muttered, turning back to Dean and staring into his brother's eyes again.  Whatever Cas was seeing that told him Dean was conscious, Sam couldn't find it.  Dean's eyes were slightly unfocused, his lips parted as though he had been in the middle of a word.  “Dean, can you hear me? Let me know if you can, okay, blink or wiggle a finger or something?”

Dean couldn’t do that, couldn’t even blink when he wanted to.  But he could definitely hear them, and Cas’s theory that he was ‘shutting himself down’ when he got stressed out was idiotic.   If some part of him was trying to protect himself, it would make much more sense to get an extra adrenaline rush than to get freaking _trapped_ where anyone could come along and hurt him.  And Cas’s little theory didn’t explain the fact that he kept getting stuck when he wasn’t even in a ‘high stress situation’.  So fuck the angel and his theory.  This wasn’t protective.  It was terrifying that couldn’t do anything, not even let his brother know that he was _there,_ he was listening.  He’d might as well be a marble statue, except worse because at least a freaking statue was solid and he was only human.  He’d never thought his body fragile before, not even when he was at his most hurt.  But what was he right now?  Vulnerable, just flesh and blood and bones, and so breakable.  Even if Cas was being honest—Cas _was_ being honest—that he was safe, and no one was going to hurt him, all Dean’s power to protect himself was gone.  And if his soul was better protected this way… well screw that.  The rest of him was helpless.

“I don't think—” Cas began, but Sam whirled back to him, cutting him off.

“Look, you're the one that did this in the first place, so just stop, okay?”  Sam instantly regretted his words because Cas shrunk in on himself even further and turned away, pulling his legs up onto the bed with him like an unhappy child.  This situation wasn't even Cas’s fault, not really; it was Sam's for sending Dean in here alone. “I'm sorry, Cas,” he said.

“It’s fine, Sam.  Perhaps you should get Dean out of here though.  I don’t believe my presence is helping him.”  Cas spoke into his knees, not looking back at Sam and Dean.  Sam wanted to say more but Dean was the bigger concern right now, and it was coming up on five minutes of paralysis now and Sam didn't know at what point it got to be too much.  

“Okay. Dean, I'm sorry about this but you're not exactly capable of moving yourself.”  Sam bent and grabbed his brother by the legs, lifting him into a fireman's carry.  Dean was totally unresisting in his arms, and Sam couldn't help but compare him to a dead body as he carried him out of the room.  In the kitchen, Sam deposited him in one of the chairs, taking a seat next to him and carefully holding Dean’s shoulder to steady him, eyes fixed on Dean's face and alert for any sign of movement.  “Come on, man, wake up already!  The most threatening thing in here is boiling water.”

Another minute passed before Dean blinked and shifted.  He was stiff and mentally tired from struggling to move again.  “Hey, Sam,” he said softly.  Then he put his face in his hands.  Only for a moment though, before he dragged them down his face and stood up.  “Dammit,” he muttered before turning towards the door to Cas’s bedroom.  “This had better not be freaking permanent!” he bellowed.  “And your theory sucks, Cas, I get stuck like that whether I’m stressed or not.  If you know so much about what’s going on in my head, explain _that_ to me.  And you should know, because you’re the bastard who did this!”

“Stop it, Dean!” Sam grabbed at his brother's sleeve.  It was like a punch in the gut to see Dean moving again, the best Sam had ever felt about having the wind knocked out of him.  “Leave him alone.”

In his room, Cas bowed tighter into a ball.  “I know I did this, Dean,” he whispered, even though the hunter couldn't hear him.  “I know, I'm sorry.”

“No, I’m not gonna let him be, Sam,” Dean growled.  Then he raised his voice again.  “You know, you think this is all crap that Cas did after he got sick, but it’s not.  Do you know why he came here in the first place?”  He started to pace.  “I was having those witch nightmares and wouldn’t tell him about them because I was afraid I would upset him.”  He snorted.  “And do you know what the son of a bitch did?  He wanted to know what the dreams were about, so he freaking _read my mind_.  He marched right into my head even though he _promised he would never._ So this whole thing started out because he had _no problem_ doing things to me that he had _no right_ to do.”

“Dean, come on man!” Sam stood and literally dragged his brother away from the doorway to Cas’s room.  “Stop it, he doesn't need this right now.”

“Why the hell is it that the minute I get back even a semblance of control over my life, you’re on Team Cas?” Dean said, yanking his arm out of Sam’s and pushing his brother.  “Because in case neither of you noticed, I just lost everything I thought I had.  I thought I had a _future_ and now I’m mentally crippled so that I’ll probably never hunt again and the person I thought I loved just fucking ripped me to pieces and I haven’t got anything left to carry on with.  I barely even feel like a _person_ anymore.”  And he wasn’t, he was just a damn wind-up toy that kept petering out.  “So if you’re going to tell me what I can and can’t say to him, Sam, wait until the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with crushes you and ruins you and takes away everything that makes you who you are.  Then you can talk to me.”

Cas couldn't curl himself any smaller but it didn't stop him from trying.  It was all true, every word, and he suddenly couldn't stay any longer.  He pulled himself from the bed, throwing on his shirt and jacket and draping his trench coat over the top so that he wouldn't leave anything behind.  He didn't like the time it took because it was clear that Dean couldn't stand another minute with him around.  He appeared in the entrance to the kitchen just in time to intercept the hate-filled glance that Dean was directing at the room he had been in.

“You're right, Dean; I don't deserve your kindness.” Cas couldn't bear to meet Dean's gaze, so he just studied the cheap vinyl flooring.  “I'm going to go now.  I'm sorry.”  Cas felt tears cloud his treacherous human eyes and swallowed down an unexpected lump in his throat.  The next few words came out sounding slightly strangled. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Cas turned and shuffled out as fast as he could because he knew Sam would try to stop him.  Sam didn't understand that this was for the best though, that Cas was only hurting Dean more by staying here, a constant reminder of his deepest violation.  He forced his shaking legs to go faster and actually beat Sam to the exit.  With help from a particularly violent burst of snow and ice, Cas got the door open and practically tumbled into the blizzard outside.  

It was cold, but he would be fine.  His Grace would keep him warm.  No, it wouldn't, because he didn't have any more.  It didn't matter.  Cas started running, more like shambling, down the road.  He was not giving much thought to his plan, only knowing that Dean didn't want him anywhere near him.  Ice and snow whipped across his face, freezing his tears and carrying them away.

Sam was too late to stop Cas from opening the door only because he couldn't believe the angel would actually try to leave, on foot, while injured, in the middle of a snowstorm.  Then a blast of frigid air swirled into the kitchen, galvanizing him into motion.

“Wait, Cas, you can't!” he yelled, sprinting after the angel.  He knew that leaving Dean standing in the kitchen was probably a bad idea, but dammit, Cas was his friend too.  The storm was bad outside, so bad that even though Cas had barely gotten thirty yards down the road he was already nearly invisible.  Sam caught up with the angel fast, just in time to catch him as he staggered and nearly fell into a snowdrift.  “You idiot!  What the hell do you think you're doing?” Sam shouted, the wind eating up his words almost before they left his mouth.  “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“Let me go, Sam!  I'm hurting Dean just by being there!”  Cas struggled harder than he should have been able to, and Sam almost lost his grip on the angel before he readjusted to wrap his arms tightly around him, tilting his head down towards Cas’s so he could be heard over the wind and ice.

“Yeah?  And how do you think he's gonna feel when he realizes you froze yourself to death?”

Cas’s struggles stilled briefly before renewing. "He won’t care," Cas panted, words starting to slur. At the same time Sam felt a sticky heat against his stomach and remembered the stitches that Cas had no doubt completely torn open by now. “You heard him.  He just wants me gone.”

“You don’t know if that’s true, Cas.  He's scared and hurting, and he's Dean. He doesn't always say what he means.”  Sam wasn’t actually sure if Dean would ever really forgive Cas, but he was pretty solid about the whole not-dying-in-a-blizzard thing.  “Come on, man, help me out before we start losing fingers.”

Sam wrapped one of Cas’s arms around his neck and stood, half walking, half dragging the angel back to the cabin. Cas was muttering protests under his breath, but only very faintly and Sam ignored him. When they got to the steps he helped Cas clamber up them, following him inside and slamming the door shut on the elements.  Cas sank down to the floor as soon as Sam let go of him, eyes closed and face disturbingly pale.

                   

Dean tried to follow him.  He really did.  Couldn’t let the bastard kill himself in a snowstorm, right?  He made it halfway to the door with his fingers groping for the shard of glass in his pocket again before he got stuck, eyes glazed and directed at the crack that was letting in icy air from outside.  The wind hissed its way into the room, the water continued boiling itself empty on the stove, and still Dean couldn’t move.  Outside, someone was shouting.  He wanted to pray, wanted to call Cas back, but he couldn’t.  Cas should go.  He _should_.  After a few frozen seconds, his body released the breath he’d been holding and started breathing on its own, but he couldn’t get his hand to close around the glass, to give him that grounding jolt that had snapped him out of it before.

Then Sam was back, herding Cas in and slamming the door behind them, and Dean could move again.  “What the hell did you do, Cas?” he choked, hastily tugging his hand out of his pocket. The fallen angel didn’t answer, slumping forward like a marionette with cut strings.  Sam caught him before he could faceplant on the hardwood, lowering him to his side instead.  “Sam, is he okay?”  Dean didn’t go over to him, but he slowly squatted on the floor so that he could see Cas’s face better.  “Cas,” he said again.

“Would it matter if he wasn’t?”  Sam was being mean, he knew he was being mean, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.  “Because all I’ve gotten from you so far is that you couldn’t care less what happens to him.” Cas was almost unconscious: eyes half-lidded and unfocused, breathing shallow and rapid.  Sam sat him up and gently stripped his shirt from him before laying him back on his stomach. Dean tried to interrupt but Sam was on a roll now, words spilling from his lips uncensored as his hands patched up the angel.

“I know that you still give a shit about him, but he doesn’t know that and you only ask if he's okay when he can't hear you!”  Sam tied off one set of stitches and started the next.  “You acting like you hate him isn’t helping anyone.  He didn’t mean for this to happen, and he’s trying to help you in any way he can, even if it means tearing himself apart in the process.”  

“If he’s trying to help, he’s doing a pretty piss poor job of it.  Besides, he’s the one who _did_ this to me in the first place!”  Dean couldn’t understand why Sam was being so dense.  Did he just not care?  The thought of Sam’s indifference was an added hurt, and probably would have paralyzed him if he hadn’t squeezed his cut fingertips together to send sharp pain spiking up his nerves.

“You really think he did this to you on purpose?”  Dean didn’t answer, so Sam concentrated on keeping his hands steady.  It helped that Cas wasn't bleeding as much this time, but Sam was worried that was only because he was too cold and dehydrated.  If Cas was human now, did that mean that he had to eat and drink like a regular person too?  Because if that was the case, he might be in a lot more trouble than they thought.

“He was under a spell, Dean, you know that.  And when Clem broke that spell and Cas found out he had all that Grace, he did two things.  He fixed me and he fixed you.”  Sam hesitated, unsure if he should say anything about those first few minutes after the spell was broken. “I didn’t think you were gonna make it, Dean.  But Cas burned himself out putting you back together and yeah, it looks like he might not have gotten it all right, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.  You’re a hell of a lot better.”  Sam felt a chill creep up his spine as he remembered.  “You know who you are again.

Dean stood slowly, not able to look at his brother for fear that he wouldn’t be able to move again if he did.  “‘Oops, sorry, I’ll try to fix it’ doesn’t make what he did just disappear.”

“No, but actually rebuilding your brain goes a long way.  I don’t know how much you remember, but….” Sam checked his bag for clean bandages but there were none, so he took his least bloody shirt and wrapped it around Cas’s torso.  When he was finished he heaved Cas to his feet and guided the semi-conscious angel to his bed.  Dean followed at a distance, standing in the doorway as Sam settled Cas in.  “You’re not the only person who got hurt here, you know.”

Guilt was nothing new to Dean, but he wasn’t used to it making his limbs lock up.  He stared emptily ahead, fighting to move again so he could hide the feeling under sarcasm the way he always did or even just leave.  He couldn’t do this, deal with feeling bad for Cas on top of the pain and the shame, but Sam was apparently determined to make him, whether he was right or not.  Maybe it was easy for Sam to forgive Cas and move on, but to ask Dean to do the same?  It was as if he was blatantly ignoring what Dean had said to him before Cas decided it was time to walk out.  

The good thing about this thought process was that the ache in his stomach was quickly transforming into an angry hurt, and that was something he _could_ deal with.  He stumbled when his body suddenly regained it’s motion but steadied himself quickly.  “Fuck you,” he grated, then turned from Sam and Cas and walked into the other bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Sam flinched and glanced over his shoulder after Dean.  His brother was furious, but for once Sam wasn’t going to let him cool off before they talked. Maybe there was something he was missing.  He didn’t know the whole story, after all; just the backwards one Dean had given about Cas getting his Grace back and “getting better”.  If Dean was this adamant…  Cas moaned softly, and Sam quickly turned back to him.  “Cas?  Don’t move, okay?”

The angel muttered something incoherent, but he stayed where Sam had laid him on his stomach, closing his eyes.

“Don’t move,”  Sam repeated.  “I’m getting you a water bottle.  Just stay here, rest, and hydrate.”  He waited for Cas’s small nod before going out to the kitchen and getting a water bottle.  After a moment’s consideration, he grabbed another one and a box of triscuits and went back to Cas.  “I got you crackers too, in case you get hungry.”  Sam loosened the caps on the water bottles and opened the triscuits, then put them all down within easy reach of Cas’s hand.  

“Thank you,”  the angel murmured, blinking his eyes open to stare at Sam.  “Is Dean…?”

“I’m about to go talk to him.  Don’t worry about that right now, though.  Just stay here.”

Cas nodded again, although Sam could tell by the look on his face that he was ready to drop back into depression and self-deprecation again.  Whatever.  As long as he stayed put.

Sam left Cas to sleep and shut the door behind him, then made his way to the other bedroom.  He knocked softly on the door, but there was no answer.  “Dean?”  he called through the wood.  “Can I come in?  We need to talk.”

            From inside the room, Dean took a breath and quickly wrapped his bandage back in place over his wrist, stashing the glass in his pocket again.  The cuts were a bad idea, he knew.  Especially considering the fact that he cut a little deeper than he’d planned to, and the bandage was slowly turning red.  Well.  Wasn’t really a surprise.  He was never one to half-ass anything.  And at least when the pain was this sharp, he didn’t feel that breathy anxiety high in his chest that came just before his body decided to quit moving until he calmed down.  The pain was better than that, better than being helpless.  

            After pulling down his shirt sleeve, Dean pressed his hand hard on his wrist to help it stop bleeding, then looked grudgingly at the door.  He didn’t want to talk to Sam.  Didn’t want to, but knew that Sam wouldn’t take “fuck off” for an answer.  “Not in the mood,” he growled instead, even though he was just stalling.  

            “Come on, Dean.”  Sam tried the knob and was faintly surprised to find it unlocked.  He pushed the door open hesitantly to see his brother sitting on the bed, looking tense and defiant.  “I wanted to apologize.”

Apologize?  Well, Dean wasn’t expecting that.  “So you finally realized that throwing a pity party for Cas is a dick move?”  That sentence would probably have come out a hell of a lot better if Dean could look at his brother when he said it.  

“Not really.  I’m sorry for making it seem like I’m taking Cas’s side over yours in this.  But I realized that I have no idea what actually happened with you two.”  Dean glanced up at him, outraged, but Sam cut him off before he could speak.  “No, I mean, at the very beginning.  I know what happened from when I got here, but Clem and the others couldn’t tell me how this actually started and you… weren’t making a lot of sense.”  Sam sat on the bed across from Dean and studied his own hands.  What if all this did was make Dean freeze again?  But Sam had to know so he could make up his own mind about Cas and everything that happened.  

Dean bit his lip and stared at the floor.  “Don’t want to talk about that,” he said quietly.

“I need to know, Dean.” Sam squeezed his hands together until the knuckles turned white.  “You said that Cas was sick, and you were worried about him, and then he got better, but I don’t know what any of that means.  I still can’t even figure out how Cas got cursed in the first place.”

Steeling himself, Dean closed his eyes and gripped his wrist tighter so the ache intensified for a moment.  Sam wasn’t just going to leave him alone, so he had to say something.  “He just showed up.  Middle of the night and right after I woke up from one of those horrible nightmares he shows up in my bedroom.”  

“Right, because he was worried about you.  Cas flew all the way up here, though?  I thought he couldn’t fly anymore.”

“Barely made it,” Dean muttered.  “He zapped to Maine on zero juice, so he was completely wiped out.”

“Damn.  Which is why he was sick.”  Sam was scrambling to piece the story together in his mind.  “But that doesn’t explain how he got the spell on him, unless you two went fighting monsters together or something.  And you made it sound like there wasn’t a lot of time between when he was sick and when he was all hopped up on Grace.”  He saw Dean squeezing his arm and frowned.  “Dean…”

Dean saw where Sam was looking and let go of his wrist, hoping the bleeding had stopped and hadn’t seeped through his shirtsleeve.  He half glared at Sam before saying, “I think I gave it to him.”  When Sam looked at him, Dean looked away.  “The curse and the dreams are connected, right?  I don’t know how it got passed around, but he was _in_ my dream.  And just generally in my space.  He wasn’t _sick_ sick until morning.”  

“Wait. You.”  Sam stopped, staring at Dean.  “You _gave_ it to him?“

Dean flinched and grabbed his wrist again to steady himself.  “What the hell, Sam!  You make it sound like I made the curse or something.  What I mean is that…”  His anxiety was increasing and he just wanted to stop talking.  The rush of shame at the implication of blame Sam’s words before he’d really processed through what his brother was saying was overwhelming and not easy to shake.  He hadn’t frozen yet, though, so that much was good.  With a deep breath, Dean squeezed his eyes shut, fingers still pressing into his wrist, and counted to ten.  By that time, he had calmed himself enough to continue.  “I think I gave it to him like I’d give you a cold.  Like I was contagious or something.  I’m the only thing he came in contact with that had been anywhere near the other monsters up here before he became a Grace-happy, possessive bastard.”

“I wasn’t blaming you,”  Sam said quickly, seeing how close Dean was to a total panic and shut down.  “I don’t want to blame anyone, it’s just.  Does Cas know that’s how it got to him?”  The look on Dean’s face was enough of an answer. “You have to tell him, Dean.  The guilt’s tearing him up, and it’s not his fault he got sick.”

Dean just stared at Sam.  “Guilt _should_ be tearing him up.”

“That’s not—”  Sam ran a hand through his hair distractedly, trying to find the right words.  “None of that was Cas, Dean.  He wasn’t in his right mind.  It’s like when I didn’t have my soul.  You never held that against me, and I did terrible things.  I tried to kill Bobby.”

Dean’s throat tightened.  “If he tried to kill me, I could handle that.  But what he did?”  Dean shook his head.

Sam thought sadly that in a way Cas had been trying to kill Dean, or at least kill his spirit. Saying so wouldn’t help anything, though.  “He didn’t want to, Dean.  Think about it.  Cas would never have done any of that to you.”  Sam remembered the last time he had spoken those words to Dean.  Maybe now his brother had a chance of believing him.

“But he _did_ ,” Dean insisted.  He carefully let go of his wrist before Sam could admonish him again, curling his fingers into a fist.  “It didn’t go like this with any of the other monsters affected by the curse.  So maybe it was just him.”  Dean’s chest hurt.  And his wrist, but that was the good kind of hurt, the stabilizing kind of hurt.  

“Cas is an angel, though.  The spell affected humans differently from monsters, and angels differently from either of them, apparently.”  Sam sighed heavily.  What he was about to say was either going to make the situation much better or much worse.  “Listen, Dean.  After the spell was broken you were pretty far gone.  If Cas had wanted to keep you the way you were, he could have.  I was dying and Clem was an easy target.  He could have just taken you and left, and you would have been overjoyed about it.  No one forced Cas to drain out the last of his Grace saving me and healing you.  He fixed your soul fully aware that you would hate him for it after.”

“What, am I supposed to give him a fucking medal for that?” Dean growled.  “The _congrats-for-not-being-as-much-of-a-psychopath-as-you-could-have-been_ award?”  To be honest, he didn’t remember much after Castiel decided to punish him a second time.  All that came after the pain of the angel ripping into his soul was a glow of adoration for Castiel.  No, Cas.  He didn’t remember Castiel after the pain, just Cas.  Didn’t remember his brother, or Clem, or even how the spell was disrupted, but he could remember with searing clarity the way Cas looked when he cried, and the blinding panic that the angel’s tears had inspired in him.  He could remember the fold of Cas’s arms around him, the gentle way he comforted and guided and tried to reason with that broken _thing_ Dean had become.  He could remember Cas saying he would love him after, no matter what.  Didn’t make it better, didn’t erase anything, but he did remember that much.  “I’ve got every right to hate him.”

Sam was quiet for a long moment.  He had been hoping that Dean would be able to at least consider the possibility that Cas was hurting almost as badly as he was.  He wanted to keep trying to convince Dean, but there was very little left for him to say.  “I guess you do, Dean.”  Sam stood, not looking at his brother, and started to go.  One last thought occurred to him and he stopped in the doorway, turning around to look at Dean.  “When you were in the shower, after the dream you had about Castiel, you asked me if Cas got hurt by it too.  I think the answer to that should be pretty obvious.  He’s been in love with you for years, and then he wakes up from a curse and finds out that he did that to you? He might hate himself more than you hate him.”  Without waiting for an answer, Sam left the room.

“Sam!” Dean choked as the door clicked shut, but he couldn’t get out anything more.  Apparently the pain in his wrist wasn’t enough to keep him going, because he froze up.  He wanted to break out, wanted to yell, or throw things, or drink himself blind, or at least get Sam so he didn’t have to be alone and scared shitless and feeling like his chest was being ripped apart.  He needed Sam back.  

Sam hesitated in the hall.  He thought Dean had called for him, but he wasn’t sure.  There was no further sound from the bedroom, and Sam frowned.  Dean had stayed unexpectedly mobile during their conversation, but what if it had just been building up and he was stuck now?  Sam glanced at the doorknob, weighing his options.  If Dean hadn’t actually called him and Sam went back in, it would just give Dean an excuse to yell at him again.  If he had called, though, and then frozen up… Sam knew he couldn’t risk it.  He knocked on the door, and then when there was no answer he opened it.

“Dean?  Did you—shit.”  Dean was definitely frozen, a panicked expression on his face, mouth still slightly open from the shape of Sam’s name.  “I’m right here, Dean.  It’s okay.”  Sam gingerly sat at his brother’s side and put an arm around his stiff shoulders.  “You’re all right.”

No, he wasn’t.  But Sam was back, and that at least meant something.  The tension in him faded slightly, but not enough to release him for another nine minutes and fifteen seconds.  When Dean could move again, he turned his face away from Sam and tried to fight down the tears that were rising in his chest.  “I can’t do this, Sammy,” he whispered.  “Can’t do any of this.  I can’t—”  And then he was frozen again, but only for seven seconds.  As soon as he could, he grabbed his wrist again, hard, and felt the wave of pain wash away some of the threat of freezing.  

“Dean, stop it.”  Sam reflexively pushed Dean’s hand away from his arm, frowning when he saw the blood starting to seep through the shirt.  Either Dean had broken the scabs from before or he had cut himself again before Sam came to find him.  Sam suspected it was the latter.  “You don’t have to do that, man.”

“Yes, I do,” Dean insisted, but curled his hands into tight fists and focused on the pain that sent through his arm instead of pressing on his cut again.  

Shaking his head, Sam opened his mouth to tell Dean to stop and demand to know how he kept cutting himself, but he hesitated.  Dean was shaking slightly against him, and Sam’s fear for his brother’s physical safety was overruled by his concern for Dean’s mental state. “You’re all right, Dean. We’ll get through this.”  He wrapped his arms around his brother again.

Dean just let Sam hug him, not saying anything, but not freezing up either.  They sat that way for a few minutes, and then Sam drew back slightly.  “I’m sorry if I freaked you out,”  he murmured, not meeting Dean’s gaze.  “I don’t know what it’s like, what you’re going through.  I can’t even wrap my head around it.  A week ago everything was fine and now there’s so much that’s broken and I don’t know if I can fix it. I’m trying, but it’s like the blind leading the blind here.  Maybe it’s not fixable.”  Unexpected tears prickled in Sam’s eyes, and he swallowed hard.  “You and Cas are my only family.  I can’t just give up on either of you, you know?”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut because he couldn’t look at Sam when he was like this.  He didn’t know what to say.  His gut instinct was to tell Sam it was going to be okay, but the truth was, Dean didn’t think it was ever going to be okay.  So instead he just bowed his head.  “I’m glad you’re here, Sam,” he mumbled.  

“Me too,”  Sam answered softly.

Dean shook his head and wrapped his arms around his stomach.  He took a moment to concentrate on the thrum of pain through his wrist before saying, “Is Cas—was he asleep when you came in here?”

“No, but he looked pretty tired.  Probably is by now.  Why?”

With a brief glance at Sam, Dean half shrugged one shoulder and was quiet for a minute.  “I just… I want to see him.”

“...when he’s asleep?”

Dean tensed, throwing his brother a nervous look.  “I mean…”  He looked down.  “I don’t want to talk to him.”  

Sam shrugged.  “Yeah, I get it.”  It made sense, actually, in a weird sort of way.  Especially since Cas just looking at Dean might be enough to freak him out.  “You want me to come with you?”

Without looking at Sam, Dean nodded stiffly and slowly got to his feet, shuffling to the door before checking back to make sure Sam was following.  Once Sam stood, Dean opened the door and walked out, trying not to be obvious about the fact that he was listening to Sam’s footsteps trailing him down the hall.  At the door to the other bedroom, Dean paused, though, and raised a hand to knock.  Softly, though.  That was his plan.  Not loud enough to wake Cas, but loud enough that if Cas were already awake, he’d hear and Dean could book it.  But he couldn’t bring himself to knock on the door, so he just put his hand against the wood and reminded himself to breathe.  There was nothing to be afraid of.

“Let me go in first,”  Sam offered.  When Dean didn’t respond except to shift back slightly, Sam went around him and quietly slipped into the bedroom.  Cas was lying right where Sam had left him on the bed, fast asleep.  One of the water bottles was empty and the other was half-gone, which was good, but Cas didn’t seem to have touched the crackers.  “Yeah, he’s asleep,”  Sam called to Dean is a not-quite whisper.  Cas didn’t even stir.  

At Sam’s words, Dean stepped into the doorframe and leaned against it, not willing to get farther into the room and closer to Cas.  He didn’t freeze up, which was practically a miracle in and of itself.  He was okay.  And Cas… Cas was just sleeping, which was still strange to see after all the years of Cas being an angel and generally not understanding why _humans_ needed rest sometimes, let alone taking it for himself.  The sleep didn’t look particularly restful, though.  Cas’s face was lined and drawn, probably a consequence of the pain of having his back ripped open.  Or maybe he was like Dean and had nightmares.  The thought bothered Dean for reasons he couldn’t put into words, and he gripped the door frame with one hand, pressing his lips together and not looking away from Cas’s sleeping face.  

To Sam’s relief,and faint surprise, Dean seemed okay standing this close to Cas.  It probably helped that the angel looked as non-threatening as Sam had ever seen him.  As he watched, Cas’s brow furrowed and he groaned slightly, turning his face the other way and starting to turn onto his side.  The movement must have pulled on his back because he made another hurt noise and settled back onto his stomach.  One hand fisted in the sheets near his head, but Cas didn’t seem to have woken up fully.

If Dean had said that he hadn’t flinched when Cas moved, he would have been lying, because he did, badly.  And froze for a good ten seconds, long enough for Sam to get his worried face on.  When he could move again, he stepped cautiously backward, still hanging onto the doorframe, still peering nervously at Cas.  Only for a moment, though, before the hurt in his chest grew too great and he stepped from the room into the hall, where he froze up with his hands over his face and his back to the room.  That was no good though because _Cas_ was in the room.  Dean wanted to force his feet out of their solid positions on the wood floor and even just turn the hell around, but he couldn’t, couldn’t tell Sam to come and close the door between him and Cas.  He couldn’t see where Cas was.  Didn’t know if he was awake now, coming closer, about to reach out for Dean’s shoulder and—

“Dean?”  Sam followed his brother into the hall, shutting the door behind him so they wouldn’t wake Cas.  “Hey, it’s okay. He was just moving in his sleep, not, like, waking up or anything.” Sam stood awkwardly behind his brother, between him and the bedroom.  Was it really so bad that Dean couldn’t even stand to be around Cas when he was asleep?

Sam was there.  Dean relaxed enough to move again.  “I know,” he snapped.  “I’m fine.”  Mad at himself for psyching himself out, but fine.  

“Okay!”  Sam raised his hands defensively.  “Why don’t we just let Cas sleep for a bit?”  He passed Dean and headed into the kitchen.  Turning around, he watched Dean slowly follow him in and take a seat.  Sam stayed leaning on the counter, looking Dean over.  His brother looked tired and shaken, although Sam could hardly fault him for that. He also looked a little pale, and as Sam watched, Dean surreptitiously squeezed his wrist again.  Not good.

“Hey, Dean?  Tell me the truth; were you cutting yourself earlier, before I came in?”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “Come on Sam, seriously?”  

“Yes, seriously.”  Sam scowled.  “I mean, I saw the bandages, so I don’t even really have to ask.  I’m not gonna let you keep doing it, though.”

“What are you, my nursemaid?  I’m fine, Sam.”  

“No, you’re not.”  Sam pushed away from the counter and grabbed Dean’s hand, pushing his sleeve back. “This is not fine, and it needs to stop.  Hand it over.”

Dean pulled on his hand, but Sam held it fast, so he looked up at his brother and snarled, “Hand _what_ over?”  

“Whatever you’re using to hurt yourself.  Don’t think I won’t search you, because you know I will.  I’m not gonna let you keep doing this to yourself.”  Sam knew it was unfair for him to take advantage of his brother’s… Sam didn’t even know what to call it.  Condition?  Illness? If he made Dean panic then he would freeze and Sam could search him easily, and they both knew it. Guilt gnawed at Sam, but he ignored it.  Dean couldn’t go on like this.

“Not gonna happen,” Dean growled.  “It’s not your problem, Sam.”  

“You’re my brother and therefore it is my problem.”  Dropping Dean’s arm, Sam glowered at him.  “Are you really gonna make me check your pockets like you’re twelve?”

“Try it and I’ll break your fingers.”  Dean pushed away from the table and stood.  Keep Sam from looming over him.  Except that Sam was still way too tall.

“No you won’t.  Come on, Dean. Why are you _doing_ this?”  Sam let his frustration bleed through into his voice.  

“’Cause I want to.  Now leave me the hell alone.”  Dean retreated a few paces, not turning his back on Sam because he knew that if he did, there was a good chance Sam would just grab him.  

Sam followed his brother back towards the hall.  “No, Dean.  I’m not going to leave you alone.”  Dean was out in the hall now, and Sam swallowed hard.  Dean would be seriously pissed at him for this, but it would be worth it, right?  If it kept Dean from cutting?  “And if you keep making this much noise, you’re going to wake Cas up.”

Dean froze, but only for a second, and then stared at Sam wide eyed, because Sam couldn’t be _trying_ to make him freeze, could he?  “I don’t fucking care if I wake Cas up.”

“Really? Cause you were freaking out about it a minute ago.  And your back’s to his room again, so if he comes out you’re not gonna know.”

That was all it took for panic to thread its way into Dean’s limbs, locking him in place, because if Sam was warning about Cas, then maybe he really _was_ dangerous.

The moment Sam saw that Dean had gone still, he darted forwards, slipping his hand quickly into Dean’s right pocket.  Something cool and hard met his searching fingers,and he pulled out a piece of glass about the length of his pinky, crusted with dried blood. Damn.  Where the hell had Dean gotten broken glass from?  He could figure it out later, though. Slipping the shard into his own pocket, Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulders and squeezed.

“I’m sorry, Dean.  You’re all right, Cas isn’t gonna hurt you.  I just—shit. I shouldn’t have said that; I needed to get the glass away from you, that’s all.  You’re safe.”

It took a moment for Dean to process through what Sam was saying, and the sudden tip from anxiety to flat out rage released him.  He pushed Sam solidly in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards, and then took two steps forward and punched him in the face.  “Don’t you _ever_ ,” Dean said hoarsely, “do that to me again.”

“I won’t,”  Sam promised, blinking back the reflexive tears that spang up from the punch.  He could feel his cheekbone swelling with a bruise.  “I’m sorry.”

Dean gave a short laugh.  “No you’re not.”  

“Yes, I am.  I’m sorry I did that to you.  I wish I didn’t have to.”  Sam put his hand in his pocket, feeling the dried blood flaking off the glass.  Dean hadn’t been anywhere he could get this from since he started hurting himself, but it had to have come from somewhere.  Then Sam remembered Dean breaking the window in the bedroom to let Castiel in.  He had thought Castiel put all the glass back, but maybe he had just made a new window?  If that was the case, there were probably more pieces where this one had come from.  

“Don’t play this off as ‘I had to,’ because you didn’t.  You think this is a fucking game?  I don’t listen, so you can just hit the pause button and do whatever you like?  You’re the _only_ person I trust right now, and you do this to me?”

“You were hurting yourself,”  Sam protested.  It was a weak response and he knew it.  He should have tried to just wrestle the thing away from Dean by brute force.  He still would have gotten punched, but Dean would probably have been less upset with him.  “It wasn’t right, I know that.  I’m not going to do it again.”

“Oh sure,” Dean said, “until you decide that you care more about what you want than what’s going on in my head.”  He balled his hands into fists.  

“That’s not gonna happen, Dean.”  

“Yeah, well it already did.”  

Sam stared helplessly at his brother.  “You’re not telling me what’s going on in your head.  All I know is that you’re cutting yourself and that’s not good for you.”

Dean just stared back incredulously, shaking his head, then turned his back on Sam.  “I’m going to sit with Cas, since apparently he’s the most trustworthy person here.”  Without another word, he strode into the hallway, opened the door to Cas’s bedroom, and closed it behind him.  

Being alone in Cas’s room sent a prickle of unease down Dean’s spine, but he didn’t leave.  Didn’t open the door back up.  Just stood there taking deep breaths and staying calm enough to keep control.  He didn’t notice himself getting stuck for ten seconds, though.  Sam was moving somewhere in the house, probably figuring out where Dean got the glass from and cleaning it up, the bastard.  Dean listened for a few minutes, frowning as he watched Cas, and then slowly walked farther into the room before tentatively sitting on the edge of the bed opposite Cas.  He pressed his thumb against the bandaged wound he’d cut earlier just as a slight reassurance and then sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.  

So he hadn’t been entirely honest with Sam about the other monsters the curse got, now that he thought about it.  A lot of them _were_ like Cas.  Possessive.  Protective of their mates, but not to the ordinary degree.  Vampires were normally attached to their partners, but not enough to set their own nest on fire when Dean came in and ganked one of them.  And they were all the same species, so they didn’t have the uneven effects to the curse that Dean and Castiel had.  He froze up for four minutes and twenty-nine seconds, and when he could move again, just concentrated on his breathing, matching it to Cas’s sleeping breaths.  

Even if all that was true, it didn’t change the fact that Dean was afraid, as much as he hated ever admitting to fear.  And whether he had meant to or not, Cas _did_ hurt him.  That fact wasn’t going to change.  

 

Cas woke up to a dry throat and an aching back.  He turned his face towards the door but kept his eyes closed, fumbling for the water bottle he had left by the side of the bed.  A sharp intake of breath alerted him to the fact that someone else was present, and he blinked his eyes open, squinting against the late afternoon light that was filling the room. To his complete surprise,  Dean was sitting on the bottom bunk of the other bed, knees drawn up to his chest and eyes wide and fixed on Cas.  Sam was nowhere to be seen.  Cas struggled to remember how he had gotten here. He remembered running out, and Sam following him, and then things got hazy.  Dean had said something, and Sam had answered angrily,and then he had ended up in bed. He remembered Sam telling him to rest, and, after drinking most of the water, he had fallen asleep.  The nightmares he remembered with vivid clarity.  But none of that explained why Dean would be in here now, without even the comfort of his brother’s presence.

“Dean?  Why are you here?”  Cas’s throat was dry, and he coughed, jarring his shoulders painfully.  His searching fingers found the water bottle, and he quickly took several swallows. “Where’s Sam?”  Dean was still frozen and unable to answer, so Cas closed his eyes again and just lay there, listening to the hunter’s almost mechanically even breathing.

It took Dean seven minutes and thirteen seconds to move again, and when he did, his hands were shaking.  He pressed on his wrist.  “Sam’s an asshole.”

Cas looked up at Dean without moving, frowning slightly.  “What does that mean?”  He wasn’t entirely sure where this burst of tolerance from Dean had come from, but he was just going to enjoy it as long as possible.

Dean took a breath.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to really talk to Cas about anything, but he was here, and talking to Cas was probably better than staring at him in silence.  Talking was good, right?  It was easier to gauge what was going on in Cas’s head if they were having a conversation, at least.  “Made me freeze up on purpose.”  He shrugged like it didn’t matter.  “Your back,” he started, then fell silent.  

“He what?”  Cas started to push himself up from the bed, then grimaced and flopped back down.  It probably wasn’t worth moving anyway; Dean would almost certainly lose whatever composure he seemed to have gained if Cas was up and walking around.  “Why would he do something like that?”

“Like I said: asshole.”  Dean hesitated.  “You feeling okay?”  Part of him didn’t want to ask.  

Cas tilted his head; shrugging would probably not be the best move right now.  “My shoulders hurt.”  His stomach growled loudly.  “And I’m hungry.”  He fumbled for the box of crackers and knocked them over so that they lay just out of reach.  Grumbling, Cas wormed closer to the edge of the bed and scrabbled with his fingertips until he caught one of the flaps and lifted the box back to a more accessible position.  The movement pulled against the tight stitches on his back, and he hissed in pain as he shifted back to his semi-comfortable starting position. The crackers were dry and tasteless on his tongue, and he washed them down with the rest of the water in the bottle. “How are you feeling, Dean?”

Dean froze up as Cas groped for the box, but only for a few seconds.  “Been better,” he said shortly.  Another pause.  “You shouldn’t have run out into the snow with your back like that.”

Cas watched Dean carefully from his position on the bed. “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t really thinking, I guess.”  All Cas had been thinking was that he needed to get away from Dean.  

“Yeah, well, not thinking can get you killed, so don’t do that,” Dean said.  He carefully shifted his position on the bed so that his feet were on the floor and gripped his knees hard.  He was okay.  He wasn’t going to freeze up again.  

Cas blinked at Dean, confused.  Why should Dean care if he were killed? He saw the way Dean was digging his fingers into his knees, struggling for control, and he understood.  Dean still needed Cas to figure out what was wrong with him and fix him.  “I’m sorry,”  he said again. “I can’t leave until I finish healing you, of course.”

Dean just stared at Cas.  “That’s not what I meant,” he said shortly.   

“It’s not?”  Cas’s head hurt, and he felt like he could go back to sleep right now and stay that way for another eight hours, if it wasn’t for the bad dreams.  His tired mind was having trouble rationalizing Dean’s behavior.  Why did Dean want him alive, if not to finish repairing the damage he’d caused?  

There was a strange ache in Dean’s chest as he looked at the fallen angel.  “No, Cas, it’s not.  I don’t want you dead.”  

Cas just stared.  If he hadn’t known better, he would have said Dean looked distressed by the idea of his death.  A horrible thought struck him and he narrowed his eyes, looking right through Dean to his soul. Had Cas missed some fleck of Grace earlier? Was that why Dean seemed to care about him, because he was compelled to? But there was nothing there, just old scars and new ones, no hint of Castiel's power anywhere.  Something that felt like the palest imitation of hope flickered in his chest.

“Why not?”  the words slipped out by accident.

“Because for some godforsaken reason, I still care about you,” Dean said, not looking at Cas.  Then he glanced at the angel again, but only for an instant.  “You were sick,” he said uncertainly, reminding Cas and reminding himself, “and it wasn’t really you.”  He took a shaking breath, and his next words spilled out in a mumble that wasn’t really meant for Cas’s ears.  “But it looked like you and it said it was you, so...”  He shook his head and knitted and unknitted his fingers.  

“Dean—”  Cas started, but the next moment the door swung open and Sam stuck his head in.

“Hey, Dean. You okay?”  Sam glanced around and his eyes widened when he saw Cas.  “Oh, you’re awake.  You feeling okay?”  He looked back and forth between Cas and Dean, clearly as confused as Cas had been.

“Yes.  I would appreciate more water, but I think I’m going to sleep again soon.  Dean and I were just talking.”

“Yeah,” Dean said shortly, standing up.  He glared at his brother.  “You should check on Cas’s back.”  

“Good idea.  I cleaned up the glass in the other room, just so you know, and I packed up all our hunting gear and put it in the car.”  Sam pretended not to notice the brief flash of fury that crossed Dean’s face.  It for his own good anyway.  “Could you get Cas another water bottle while I’m changing his bandages?”  Sam asked.

“You’re unbelievable,” Dean snapped, stalking past his brother.  “Get it yourself.”  And with that, he was out of the room, leaving Sam to look after Cas while he scoured the house for anything sharp Sam might have missed.  


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester: grown assman. Sam Winchester: full-fledged turd. (also known as adventures in editing) Seriously, though, this chapter is a beast and we’re really proud we got it out to you relatively quickly. An interesting note is that we've now passed the two year mark with this piece: because we had nothing better to do, we started writing it on Valentine’s Day 2013. Enjoy!

 

**Chapter 16**

**“You search for years but you lose everything you find”  
~ _Caravan_ , Passenger**

 

Cas stared as Dean stomped out of the room, leaving the door hanging open behind him.  “What was that for?” he asked, but Sam didn’t seem to hear him.  

“You okay to wait for that water until I finish changing your bandages?”

Cas nodded, still confused.  He didn’t understand why Sam’s comment about cleaning up glass would have thrown Dean into such a rage.  

“Good.”  Sam pulled back the sheets and sat  on the edge of the bed. “We’re almost out of bandages, though.  Gonna have to run into town eventually to get more.”

“Yes, I suppose.  But, Sam, why was Dean so angry with you?”

Sam shrugged one shoulder.  “I had to make a tough call, and he got pissed at me for it.”  He couldn’t tell Cas about the cutting, that much he knew.  If anyone was going to tell Cas, it was going to be Dean.  Besides, hopefully Sam had controlled the situation by getting rid of everything sharp that he could find.  “Can you sit up?”

“I think so.”  Cas struggled to an upright position, blinking rapidly as his head spun.  He should probably eat something more substantial than crackers when Sam was finished.  “What tough call?”

Sam sighed.  “If Dean wanted you to know, he would have told you.”

“He said you made him freeze,” Cas said slowly.  “But not on purpose, right?  It was an accident?”

Sam bit his lip.  “I had to make a tough call,” he repeated.

Cas jerked away from Sam’s hands, letting the new bandage Sam had been trying to secure drop down to his waist.  He turned to stare at the hunter.  “It was on purpose?  Sam, how could you do that to him? Do you not remember why Dean gets stuck in the first place?”  Cas couldn’t even figure out why Dean would have frozen around Sam.  The episodes had so far only been caused by Cas, or things that reminded Dean of Cas.  A horrible thought struck him.  “Did you—  Did you _threaten_ Dean with me?”

A jolt of guilt went through Sam’s stomach, but he kept his face neutral.  “Cas, you have no idea what happened or why.  Give it a rest.”

“Tell me, then.  Tell me what happened that was so important you had to manipulate Dean by taking advantage of his already damaged soul.”  Cas knew that he probably didn’t have the right to be as furious with Sam as he was, but that didn’t stop him.  Sam was supposed to know better; he was supposed to protect Dean.  

“I can’t tell you,” Sam said, but the words burned his throat.  He wished he _could_ tell Cas; he wanted desperately to defend what he’d done, but telling Cas that Dean was still cutting?  That wasn’t Sam’s information to broadcast.  And he knew without asking that Dean didn’t want Cas to know.  

“You can’t tell me?  Or is it just that no reason you have could justify hurting Dean like that?  Sam…”  Cas trailed off, unable to find words for the mess of emotions filling him.  “No wonder Dean is so angry.  He probably feels like you betrayed him.  And you did.”

“I did not _betray_ him,” Sam insisted.  “I can’t tell you because the reason I did what I did is Dean’s business.  And honestly, Cas, look who’s talking before you start pointing fingers.”  

“Exactly!"  Cas realized that he was gripping the sheets so tightly his hands ached, and he forced himself to let go.  “I'm dangerous to Dean, terrifying.  I hurt him.”  Cas stumbled over the words a little, but barreled on before Sam could answer.  “And he’s stuck here with me and the only other person here, the only one Dean can trust, is you.  You’re the one thing in his mind that he knows will keep him safe, and you purposefully drove Dean to freeze by using what was done to him against him.  By using me against him.  Can’t you see that?  It doesn’t even matter why you did it.  It was wrong.”

Cas’s words were like a punch to Sam’s gut, everything he had known was wrong about what he did, but he steeled himself.  “You don’t know what he was _doing_.  If you did, it might not be so black and white to you,” he said.  “You think I don’t feel like shit for doing that?  Because I do.  But I was right to do it.”  Sam only wished he were as sure as his words sounded.

“I don’t believe you.”  Cas really looked at Sam’s face for the first time and saw the swelling on his cheek, the bruising that was starting to form.  “Did Dean do that?”

Sam touched his cheekbone gently and made a face.  “Yeah.  I probably deserved it, though.”

“Probably,” Cas agreed.  He watched Sam for a few moments, wondering if he should try to figure out what possible reason Sam could have had for practically attacking Dean like that.  But Sam had said it was Dean’s reason to tell, and the hunter hadn’t been forthcoming with details when they talked earlier.  “Would you mind finishing my bandages?  I would like to have something to eat soon.”  Cas stiffly turned away, presenting his back to Sam again.

“Yeah, sure, Cas,” Sam replied, and carefully secured the fresh bandages without another word.  When he was finished, he stood up and headed for the door.  “There’s food and stuff in the kitchen.  I’m gonna go find Dean and make sure he’s not doing anything… stupid.”

 

The good news was that Dean wasn’t doing anything stupid.  Just laying on his back in the other bedroom and staring at the ceiling.  He didn’t say a word when Sam checked on him from time to time, so Sam figured that he was still pissed.  He tried to get him to eat, but Dean turned up his nose at everything Sam offered, which worried him.  And it didn’t help that the two of them couldn’t hold a conversation about it.  By nightfall, though, Dean was a mess, freezing up more frequently than he had been before, and as Sam settled into bed and turned out the lights, he heard Dean whisper his name.  He spent the night wrapped around his brother again.  

For the next few days, Cas had energy for only eating and sleeping.   Sam told him that it was fine, that his body was just healing and it took a lot out of him.  He saw Dean only once during that time, and the hunter had quickly backed out of the room when he realized Cas was awake.  

Sam and Dean made a trip to the strip mall in the next town over before the end of the week.  They washed the bedsheets and all their clothes at a laundromat, except for the jeans and tee-shirt Sam had left for Cas after strongly suggesting that he shower while they were gone.  They weren’t exactly clean; Sam had worn them the day before.  But they weren’t bloody and there weren’t a lot of options to choose from, so Sam figured Cas would appreciate the change.  Their next stop was a convenience store, where Sam got more food and medical supplies before they headed to Dean’s apartment.  

The plan was to grab some of Dean’s clothes, spend another night at the cabin, and then head down to Connecticut.  They’d drop off Cas at his apartment, and then Dean would—grudgingly, mind you—go with Sam.  Temporarily.  Just until his head was sorted out.  Sam had insisted, and even though Dean hated to do this to his brother, he needed him.  Badly.  

When Sam parked the Impala, Dean opened the car door and stepped into the parking lot, taking a deep breath and shivering.  It was a good thing they were finally getting his own clothes, including his coat.  Winters in Maine were really crappy if all you were wearing was a flannel.

Dean could see Sam surreptitiously keeping an eye on him as they headed up the stairs towards his unit, probably waiting for something to go drastically wrong.  But nothing was going to go wrong because Dean was fine and all that was going to happen was Dean would go into his apartment—his _home_ for the past six months—get changed, pack up some clothes, grab the keys to the Impala and the apartment, get his gun, put on his own shoes, and leave.  Easy.  Simple.  Half a year he’d lived there, and he’d be damned if he let this keep him from walking in the door.

But his stomach felt tight as he walked up the stairs.  The last time he’d been on them, he was being half-dragged away from Castiel, barely walking, and he could remember the vagueness of his mind with perfect clarity.  The longing for Castiel.  The despair at being parted.  Carefully, so that Sam couldn’t see, he brought his arms in front of his body and pressed one thumb hard into the opposite wrist.  Scabs cracked and the pain fortified him, and so he managed to swallow down the memories and move forward.

Down the hallway, to his door.  Someone had pushed it closed, but since the kids had kicked it in, even just the touch of Dean’s hand to the doorknob swung it open.  Without another thought, Dean walked into the room before he could turn coward and run.

It wasn’t frightening.  No, not at all.  Just his apartment with its battered cabinets that he’d stuffed with junk food, the sofa where he liked to sprawl on Thursday evenings to watch new episodes of Doctor Sexy on his temperamental TV, the trunk in the corner where he kept some extra hunting equipment.  He knew there was a devil’s trap by every window and under the rug by the door, knives hidden carefully in four or five different places.  Just in case.  So he was a paranoid bastard, but he liked to feel safe in his own place.

He stepped over the floorboard that creaked as Sam followed him in, taking a deep breath.  Then Dean’s eyes locked on the charred ring in the middle of the floor and the feeling of danger he’d barely managed to keep at bay swept over him.  He was trapped, eyes scoring the mark.

Why had he come here?  He had known, he _knew_ this would happen.  Had he honestly thought that just squeezing his torn-up wrists could keep him from reliving this?  Because he could remember it too clearly.  It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking _fair_ that could be stuck like this when all he wanted to do was what he had come for, or at least be able to turn around and leave.  Not just stand here staring, remembering how his mind had been shattered, imagining he could feel it break all over again.  

He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t.  He needed to get out but he could feel Castiel’s breath on his neck, Castiel holding him close in the middle of the flames, telling him that he would keep him safe.  For an instant Dean thought he was still that shade Castiel had created, but then he cast out the thought as best he could.  It still lingered on the edges of his consciousness, though, ready to consume him when his attention swayed.

Sam followed Dean through the doorway and saw the remnants of the holy fire even as his brother did.  It was chilling to see the ground zero of this whole mess, but he was just going to walk on in until Dean stopped and his shoulders went tense.  Shit.  “Dean?” Sam said, and when his brother didn’t reply, he confirmed what he’d already known: Dean had frozen again.  Sam hurried around Dean, physically blocking his view of the floor.  “Dean, it’s okay.” Sam gently took his brother's shoulders .  “Stay here, Dean.  Castiel is gone and he's not coming back, you're safe now.”

Sam was here, talking to him, reassuring him.   And if Sam was here, Dean would be fine, he really would, because Sam was gonna take care of him, really take care of him, if Dean would let him.  So, even though he imagined he could see the sinister face of the angel in his peripheral vision, if Sam was here, that was something to count on.  And if Sam was telling him that Castiel was gone, Dean could trust him for now.   _Castiel is gone_.  He repeated it in his mind.   _Gone_.

“Come on, man!”  Sam shook Dean a little, cautiously.  “Come back, Dean. I’ve got you.  It's all over now, Castiel isn't here anymore.”  Sam wondered if he should try to take Dean out of the room like he had before, but he didn't think he’d be able to get him all the way down to the car if he was stuck like this. He could probably sit him in the hallway until he recovered, but there was no way Sam was gonna leave him there alone.  Hesitantly, Sam went to the door and peeked into the hallway.  Deserted.  That was good sign, at least.  Then he went back to his brother.  

“I’m going to move you out of here, okay?”  Not that he was expecting any response.  Getting one of Dean’s arms around his shoulder, Sam dragged his brother back out of the apartment.  Luckily, it was a pretty short trip.  He slouched Dean against the wall and settled next to him, forcing an arm around his shoulders.  “You’re all right, Dean.”

Even out of the room, Dean couldn’t calm the panic that continued to suffocate him.  The fact that he couldn’t shove down the fear was only making him more upset.  How could he hope to get past this if he couldn’t even control his own body?  And it didn’t help that he kept seeing images of Castiel reaching for him, eyes glowing white.  At least Sam’s presence was a comfort, his arm over Dean’s shoulders a grounding weight.  

Even outside the room, even with Sam there, it took over fifteen minutes for Dean to unfreeze, fifteen minutes of Sam talking to him softly, telling him he was okay, and just watching him with a strained face.  When he came to, his body immediately started to shake, and a moment later he was motionless again.  Ten seconds and then he could move.  This time his hand found his left wrist and pressed on it hard.  The flash of pain gave him enough time to choke out his brother’s name before he froze up again.  

“Dean?”  Sam sat up when he heard his brother speak, pulling his arm out from behind Dean’s shoulder in exchange for leaning forward to get a look at Dean’s face.  But his brother wasn’t moving again, and Sam swore.  “There’s nothing here, man.  It’s just us.”

Unfrozen.  “I know, but—”  Frozen.  Dean cursed himself for a few seconds before trying to get away from thoughts of Castiel and think of something better, something calming.  Nights researching in motel rooms, driving the Impala down the empty roads of the Midwest, lying in bed listening to Metallica.  Then he could move again, clutching his wrist tighter and taking shuddering breaths as he tried to still his shaking.  

“Just breathe, Dean,” Sam instructed, considering their options.  It was clear that Dean couldn’t go back into the apartment to get his stuff, so Sam was going to have to do it for him.  But that meant leaving Dean out here in the hallway, which Sam wasn’t about to do, or making him wait in the car like a little kid.  “I have to go back and get your stuff, okay?  Will you be all right if I leave you in the car?  It’ll only take like ten minutes.”

“I don’t know,” Dean said.  “Can’t stay here, though.”  He unsteadily got to his feet, then gave the closed door to his apartment a fearful look.  “That was my _home_ , Sam.”

Sam stood as well, ready to help Dean if he wavered, but he didn’t know what to say in response.  Yeah, it had been his home.  But it was looking like it wouldn’t be again for a long time, if ever.  “Let’s head down to the car,”  he finally said, starting to lead his brother back to the stairs.  

Dean froze up two more times on the way to the car, but Sam stayed close and both times were brief, which he was grateful for.  He hated those feelings of panic, and hated that Sam had to patiently wait for him to pull himself together enough to keep walking.  He shouldn’t have come here.  Not that staying at the cabin was any better.  Thank god they were leaving tomorrow.  

“I’ll be right back,” Sam promised as Dean slid into the passenger’s seat.  His brother gave a jerky nod, and Sam hesitated a moment.  He really hated leaving Dean alone, especially after what had just happened, but the fact of the matter was that the sooner they got Dean’s stuff, the sooner they could leave the whole mess behind, at least physically.

After watching Sam retreat back into the apartment, Dean slid over to his side of the car.  The driver’s side.  He knew he wasn’t going to drive, but... He fumbled through his box of cassettes, clumsy with shakiness, grabbed one, and shoved it into the player.  AC/DC.  But he could still hear Castiel saying his name in his ear and froze.  No, no.  The music helped.  When he could move again, he cranked it up high and played with the bandages on his wrists.  When he froze again for nineteen seconds, he pulled them off and started scratching through the scabs.  The cuts he’d made a few days ago were a mess from the number of times he’d ripped through the scabs, the edges jagged and torn.  Sam had done too good a job cleaning out the apartment for him to find anything sharp.  But Sam hadn’t cleaned out the Impala.  And Dean knew for a fact that there was a Swiss Army knife in the glove compartment.  

Putting the blade to his skin was a relief.  He already felt calmer, steadier.  But if Sam saw, they’d get into an instant fight, and Dean didn’t know if he could deal with that right now, so he quickly rewrapped the old bandages around his wrists, trying to  keep the blood from getting everywhere.  The knife he slid into his pocket for later.  He wished he could just keep cutting, but…  Instead, he put his hands on the steering wheel an tightened his grip, feeling the pain lace up his forearms.  Then he tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and imagined the highway rolling out in front of him.  

A few minutes later, he heard Sam toss a bag in the trunk and then come around to the driver’s side, opening the door.  Dean opened his eyes to see Sam giving him that look.  The one where his forehead furrowed and his eyes widened slightly to get a better sad puppy effect.  The one he used when he thought he was going to hurt Dean’s feelings or some bullshit like that.  

“Don’t worry, I’m moving,” Dean said before sliding to the passenger seat.  Sam got in and took the wheel, turning the music down from its ear-splitting volume to a level he could talk over.

“I think it’ll be really good for you to get away from all this,”  Sam said softly, glancing over his shoulder as he backed out of the spot.  “I mean, if just the thought of what happened here did that to you… I’ll be glad when we’re far away.”

Dean shrugged.  “It’s not gonna be good enough.”  He stared at his hands.  “This has to stop, man.  I mean, really stop.  I can’t keep doing this.”  

“I know.  That’s why we should separate you from the stuff that’s triggering you.”

Dean curled his hands into fists and gave Sam an annoyed look.  “That’s not what I mean.”  

Frowning, Sam glanced at his brother.  Dean seemed a lot calmer already; he wasn’t even shaking anymore.  “Well then what do you mean?  It looks like just getting you out of there made you a hell of a lot more stable.”  It was true; the staccato bursts of freezing that had hit Dean in the stairwell had faded, and Sam could see that the tension had mostly gone out of his shoulders.  “And maybe if you spent some time away from  Cas you’d be able to start getting a handle on this thing.”

“I don’t want—  Look, Sam, it didn’t make me ‘a hell of a lot more stable,’ okay?  I talked myself down.”  Kind of.  With a knife.  “And do you really think it’s just gonna magically disappear without Cas around?  He wasn’t around then, and—”  He froze for a moment, then continued, almost angrily.  “If I’m gonna fix it, I need to _fix it_ fix it, not just hide away somewhere and pretend I’m better.  Besides, I thought you wanted me to be chummy with Cas.”  

“I was hoping you could forgive him _at some point_ ,”  Sam corrected. “But after what just happened I think it might be better for you to stay away from him for now.  Just until you’re doing better, you know?”

Dean turned his face from Sam to look out the window.  “I don’t know.”  But something had to change. “I just…”  Dean glanced back at Sam.  “I want this to be over.  I mean, it _is_ over, but…  I don’t feel like it’s over and you keep having to remind me that I’m safe and it’s…”  He didn’t like vomiting his feelings all over Sam.  It didn’t seem right.  Didn’t seem like Dean.  But he couldn’t keep his mouth shut these days.  

“I know, Dean.  We’re gonna figure this out, though.  You’ll be okay.”  Sam couldn’t think of anything else to say so he just drove on in silence.  When they were about five minutes away from the cabin, Dean froze again for no apparent reason.  He didn’t move again until the car was parked, and the look of confusion that flitted across his face as he stared out the windshield told Sam that his brother hadn’t even realized he was stuck. Sam frowned.  Nothing had happened during the drive to trigger a stress freeze-up,  and that plus the fact that Dean didn’t remember when these freezes happened implied that the problem was something else altogether.  

“I’m gonna ask Cas if he’s come up with any ideas about the ones you don’t remember,”  Sam said cautiously.  “Why don’t you take your stuff in and make sure I didn’t forget anything while I talk to him?”

Dean frowned.  “If you’re gonna be talking about my crap, don’t you think I should be there?”

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”  Sam asked.  “I mean, you got pretty shaken up at the apartment.  It’s probably better if you stay away from Cas for a bit.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean snapped.  “I can handle being there when you ask him a damn question.  Hell, I can do it myself.  I’m not a kid.”  He pushed open the door and got out, shivering when the cold wind hit him.  

“I’m not saying you’re a kid,”  Sam argued, getting out too.  When Dean made no move for the backseat, Sam opened the door and grabbed the bags.  “I’m just saying that you had a… a traumatic experience earlier today, and it might be easier for you if you don’t go near anything that might trigger you.”

“I’m _also_ not a fucking flower.  I can damn well go and ask Cas a question about my own issues.  And I’m sick of you thinking you need to hold my hand for everything I do.”

“That’s not it, Dean.”  Sam started up the steps with the bags.  “I’m just worried about you.”

“Well, worry less!  And you don’t need to carry all my shit, Sam, I can take it.”  But Sam was already up the stairs and in the cabin, so Dean just cursed and followed him, slamming the door shut behind him.  

Sam winced at the sound of the door banging behind him.  Even though it had only been a little more than a week since this had started, Sam was already used to treading carefully around his brother.  While it was true that Dean wasn’t back to normal by a long shot, he was well enough to know that Sam was parenting him and resent it.  “I’m sorry, Dean.  Look, I’m gonna go drop this stuff in the bedroom, and then we’ll both go talk to Cas, okay?”

“I can do it alone,” Dean insisted.  Without waiting for Sam to answer, he walked over to Cas’s room and knocked on the closed door.  “You in there?”

“Dean?”  Cas started, almost dropping the book he had borrowed from Sam’s bag.  “Yes.  Come in.”

Dean took a deep breath, pressed his thumb to his wrist, opened the door, and went in.  Not all the way.  Just two steps in from the doorframe, where he paused.  “We’re back,” he said stiffly.  He was fine.  Cas was sitting on the bed, wearing some of Sam’s clothes, with a copy of _The Great Gatsby_ on his lap.  “Did laundry and… stuff.  Picked up some crap from my place.”  Damn, he was articulate.  “Had a question.”  

“Of course.  What can I help you with?” Cas put the book aside and gestured for Dean to sit on the other bed, belatedly realizing that the hunter might not be comfortable doing that.  

Dean hesitated and then walked carefully to the other bed, keeping his eyes on Cas as he did so.  As he sat, he took his left wrist in his hand and tightened his grip on it, just to keep himself steady.  “The freezing stuff.  When I’m not conscious, not the stress stuff.  You got any idea why that happens yet?”  

“No, I’m sorry.”  Cas’s eyes flicked to where Dean was holding his arm, and he frowned.  He returned his eyes to Dean’s face, trying to read his expression.  “Has it been happening often?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Dean demanded.  “I don’t exactly _notice_ when it happens.”  

“Right.” Cas studied his own hands.  “I might be able to get a better idea of what’s going on if I could see you when you froze like that and study your soul, but that’s not very helpful since we have no way to predict that it’s coming.”

Dean glanced down and nodded.  “I—”  He gripped his wrist harder.  He doubted he could carry on a conversation for much longer without freezing out or doing worse than squeezing his arm.  Maybe he should just go.  He did what he came here for; he had nothing to prove.  But instead, he said, “I freaked out at my apartment.”  And then froze in spite of himself.  Why had he told Cas that?

Cas didn’t know what to say.  Was he surprised that something like that had happened?  No.  It made sense, really.  If there was one place where Dean’s soul would feel unsafe, it was in the apartment where it had first been brutalized.  He glanced up and saw that, also unsurprisingly, Dean was stuck now.  “I’m sorry.  I know I keep saying it, and it doesn’t help anything, but.”  He hung his head, unable to look at Dean even though the hunter couldn’t meet his eye.

It took Dean another twenty-five seconds before he could move again, and when he could, he ached to grab the knife from his pocket and actually get some stability, but he couldn’t do that in front of Cas.  Instead, he just held his wrist tightly and tried to calm down.  He wanted Sam.  Not that he was going to call his brother or anything.  But he was scared.  Or upset, or something.  He could barely tell what his emotions were anymore.  When he opened his mouth to reply—saying what, he wasn’t sure—he froze up again.  Another few seconds and he could move, but this time he kept his mouth closed.  

They sat in silence for long enough that Cas chanced a look up at Dean again.  Strangely the hunter wasn’t frozen, just sitting and watching him mutely.  Dean was still squeezing his wrist very hard, Cas noticed.  “Why are you doing that?”  Cas asked the question softly, without any judgment in his voice.  He had no right to condemn Dean’s actions.

Dean very deliberately released his wrist.  “Not doing any—”  He got stuck.  

Cas stared at Dean sadly for a moment.  “Does it help?”

When he could move, Dean took his wrist again and ducked his head, nodding half-ashamedly and trying to concentrate on fighting down the tears that rose unexpectedly in his throat.  He didn’t like not seeing Cas, though, so he only looked away for a moment.  But if he had to watch Cas then he couldn’t hide his face.  At least the tears hadn’t spilled over yet.  

A self-loathing rose in Cas that was so strong he actually felt nauseous.  “This is all my fault,”  he whispered brokenly.  It would have been better if he had died trying to fly to Dean’s at the beginning of this whole thing.  

“Last time I checked, I was pretty sure it was me who decided cutting apart my wrists would be a good idea, not you.”  

Cas inhaled sharply, trying to keep his expression relatively neutral. It was one thing to infer, another to have Dean mention it so casually.  “And yet if I hadn’t broken your soul in the first place, the desire to hurt yourself would never have arisen.”

“I don’t—  It’s just because it helps, dammit,” Dean insisted.  “I don’t freeze as much when I do.  I’m not doing this because I want to hurt, Cas.”  His hands were shaking, but he wasn’t frozen yet.

“That’s not what I said,”  Cas corrected gently.  “I know you’re trying to fix yourself in the only way you can.”  The fallen angel bowed his head and ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, feeling the weight of his trespasses settling on him.  “That doesn’t remove any of the blame for this situation from my shoulders.”

“It’s my choice.”  Dean carefully let go of his wrist.  “It was my choice when I did it when I was broken, and it’s my choice now.  So stop acting like it’s not.”

Silence fell as Cas considered Dean’s words.  Who was he to try to take anything away from Dean, after taking so much from him already?  “Will you stop if—when we fix you?”  Cas could practically see the expression on Sam’s face if the younger Winchester ever found out that Cas was essentially accepting Dean’s self-harm, but Cas wasn’t going to deny Dean any small control he might have gained.  

Dean closed his eyes and took a breath.  “Yeah.”  Right now, the thought of stopping freaked him out enough to freeze, eyes still shut.  He couldn’t see Cas, couldn’t make sure that there was nothing to be afraid of.  His heart started beating faster, and he wished Sam were here to tell him it was all right.  

Cas could see that Dean had gone still, but as the seconds ticked by he could sense the hunter’s growing panic.  “Dean—”  he started, but had to pause and clear his throat as tears started to prickle in his eyes.  His friend was so broken.  “Dean, I haven’t moved.  I’m still sitting right on the bed.  If you’re still not moving by the time I count to twenty I’m going to go get Sam.  You’re safe, Dean.” Inhaling deeply to keep his voice from trembling, Cas began a steady count.

It took until Cas got to sixteen for Dean to unfreeze and take in a shuddering breath, eyes on Cas again.  “Don’t call him,” he said.  “I can handle it, I’m fine.  I’m fine.”  He reached automatically for his wrist, then hesitated, curling his hand into a loose fist instead of pressing on the cuts.  He glanced up to Cas’s face for a moment, then looked down at his feet.  “Talking to me when that happened was… probably a good idea.  It helped.  If you hadn’t done that, I...”  He didn’t really know how to finish that sentence, and he didn’t want to.

“I thought you would like to know where I was if you couldn’t see me,”  Cas answered quietly.  He still wasn’t sure why Dean was so insistent on being alone with him, but he wasn’t going to argue with Dean if it was what he wanted.

“Yeah.”  Dean frowned, working his jaw and carefully not looking at Cas.  “I can’t keep doing this, Cas.  I can’t stay like this, I can’t.”  

“I’ll help you in any way I can,”  Cas promised. He paused, unwilling to continue, but Dean should know the truth.  “Without my Grace, though, I think the only thing I can do to help is stay away from you and let your soul heal on its own.”

“You really think it’s just gonna get better?”  Dean looked at Cas this time, trying to read his expression.  “Is that even something souls can _do_?”  

“It makes sense.  Bones set if you don’t aggravate the fracture, cuts scab over if they’re left alone.  It’s possible that a soul would work the same way.”  Cas glanced away from Dean again.  “I’ve never seen anything like this before, so I don’t really know.”

“Bones set wrong if you don’t splint them.  Cuts scar and sometimes need stitches.”  Dean pressed hard on his wrist.  “So what if this is it.  You healed my soul, like a bone that healed crooked.  Or my soul is all scarred up now, not really fixed.  What if it doesn’t get better, Cas?”  Cas didn’t say anything, just looked at his feet.  “All I’m saying is…”  Dean gritted his teeth.  “Maybe there’s another way.  There’s nothing to be afraid of, right?”  He was shaking, but there was nothing to be afraid of.  He was fine, he was fine.  “So maybe if I can just get myself to believe that you—”  Of course, he froze there, mid-sentence, but only for a few moments and then he scrubbed at his face with his hands.  It was too hard.  He was exhausted.  He should leave now, find Sam, take back his attempt at fixing himself by talking to Cas.  He glanced at at the door frame, half hoping that Sam was there to come pull him away, but it was empty.  Dean turned back to Cas, giving him a half pleading look because he didn’t know what else to say.  

“Believe that I what, Dean?”  Cas kept his voice gentle.  “If you don’t believe me when I say I won’t hurt you, how else could I convince you?  I’ll do anything you want.”

Dean pressed his lips together and nodded, freezing up every few words.  “Maybe—  just—”  He squeezed his wrist.  “Can you just—  Just sit next to me.  I know I’ll freeze, but—”  Part of him was screaming out in protest because he didn’t want to be near Cas, he really didn’t.  But if this could help… “I’ll work through it.  I don’t—  I don’t want to be like this, Cas.”

Cas just stared at Dean for a moment.  He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting Dean to ask of him, but it wasn’t that.  “Are you—”  he cut himself off.  Of course Dean was sure.  Slowly, he stood and crossed the room.  Dean froze almost as as soon as Cas started moving, but the fallen angel continued, sitting as far from Dean as he could while still in his line of sight.  

It took Dean fifteen seconds before he could move again.  Then, he fiddled with his sleeves, watching Cas and trying to keep his breathing level.  He was fine.  They sat there like that, Cas quiet and still, Dean trying not to freeze, for a good two minutes or so before Dean found the courage to speak.  He got stuck right before he was going to talk to Cas, then managed to unfreeze.  “Cas?”  He hesitated, rubbed his wrist, and said, “Is it all right if I touch you?”  

Cas blinked once and then stared straight ahead, hands clenched in his lap.  He didn’t know what Dean expected from him, and the truth was, he was afraid.  Not that Dean would try to hurt him again, but of the bruising memories—Dean’s hand in his and Dean’s fingers gripping his coat and Dean’s lips on his neck—, the tenderness that he’d demanded from the hunter when he broke his soul.  And he knew that Dean would be gentle now, which was more frightening than if he thought Dean would be violent.  A part of him wanted to say no, to tell Dean that it would be too much, too soon, especially for the hunter.  But if Dean thought this would help him…  “Yes, Dean, you can.”  

Dean nodded, looking down.  “Okay, just… just let me know if you want me to stop.”  He turned so that he was facing Cas and shifted slightly closer, then got stuck.  Ten seconds.  Then he was back and he pressed two fingers against Cas’s shoulder.  He was okay.  He was okay.  So he put his hand flat on Cas’s shoulder and breathed.  The air hurt.  He couldn’t do this.  He pulled his hand off the angel and curled his arms around himself for a moment, taking shuddering breaths.  Then he reached out again.  Touched the collar of his shirt.  Walked his fingers up the side of Cas’s neck. Got stuck with his hand lightly fluttering over Cas’s ear.  Continued onwards.  Touched the stubble on his jawline and the dark smudges on the fragile skin under his eyes.  The bridge of his nose and his nostrils.  His eyelashes and eyebrows.  The lines on his forehead.

Dean froze intermittently, sometimes for longer than others, and he hated it.  Hated it and his shaking body because he couldn’t keep still while doing this, couldn’t really stay calm.  And then there were Cas’s eyes, bright and pained, and he wondered if he was hurting the fallen angel.  Well.  He had already known that this wasn’t going to be comfortable.  The whole time, he could hear his heart beating in his ears, and the longer they sat like that, the tighter his chest felt, even when he was unfrozen.  By the time he slid his hand off Cas’s face and down his arm, the feeling was near suffocating.  Part of him wanted to run.  Hide.  Find Sam.  But instead he picked up Cas’s hand in both of his.  Got stuck.  Ran his fingers over Cas’s smooth nails.  Pressed on the pads of his fingertips.  Rubbed a circle into the palm of his hand, then started to cry.

It took a supreme effort for Cas to stay still as Dean reached out for him.  He held his breath as Dean’s hand passed over his face, fingers gently brushing each of his features with a nervous precision that only augmented the tension in Cas’s chest.  Dean’s touch was cool on Cas’s skin, an offer of trust that he didn’t deserve, and he refused to exhale until the hunter’s hand trailed down to his own.  When Dean took his hand, it was so tender and careful that it reminded Cas of the last time Dean had traced the lines of his palm.  Cas shuddered and closed his eyes, only for them to snap open in surprise as a tear dripped onto his skin.

“Dean,” he whispered, turning his head a tiny fraction to the left and down until he saw the hunter, head bowed over Cas’s hand.  “Dean,” he said again, but he didn't know what else to say.  Don't cry?  Cas couldn't suggest that, not when his own eyes were so bright and damp.  It will be alright?  But there was no guarantee of that.  Cas wanted to hold Dean, to try and comfort him, but Cas knew this was already too far outside the hunter's comfort zone.

“I’m fine,” Dean muttered, still hanging onto Cas with one hand but wiping his eyes with the other.  He squeezed Cas’s hand then released it, rubbing his eyes hard.  Then his hand tripped its way down to his left wrist and he turned away from Cas and pressed hard on the cuts.  He wanted to use the knife in his pocket, just to keep it together a bit better, but he couldn’t do that in front of Cas.  The tears weren’t stopping, though, and he wished he could curl up until the emotion passed.  Not that it ever really passed anymore.  He froze and unfroze even with his fingers bruising the cuts on his wrist.  

The sight of Dean jamming his thumb into his wrist, setting fresh blood seeping through the bandages, broke Cas out of his muteness.

“Please, Dean.  You don't need to hurt yourself.”  He shifted slightly, turning to face the hunter on the bed.  “May I touch you?”  Cas pressed his hands flat to his knees to stop them from shaking.  “If you freeze I‘ll stop, or if you ask me to.”

Dean gave Cas a panicked look.  “Why?”

“Because I want you to know that I’m not going to hurt you.”

Dean hesitated.  “Tell me—”  Frozen.  He couldn’t do this.  “Tell me what you’re gonna do before you do it.  And—”  This was a terrible idea.  He could barely even talk to Cas.  “And wait until—  until I say it’s okay.”  

“I’m just going to hold your hand, Dean.”

Dean nodded sharply.  “Yeah.  Yeah, that’s fine.”

Taking a deep breath, Cas reached out and laid his hand on Dean's left palm, fingertips just brushing the edge of the bandages.  Dean went still and Cas instantly pulled his hand back, counting to ten before Dean blinked at him again.  “Is that okay?”

“Yeah.”  Dean was shaking and when he blinked, more tears rushed down his cheeks.  He had barely noticed he was still crying.  

“Can I—can I hold your other hand?”  Cas glanced away from Dean, then met his gaze again.  Dean’s right hand was the one he was hurting himself with.

A tremor went through Dean and he just looked at Cas for a moment.  “I’ll freeze,” he whispered.  

“I’ll stop if you do,”  Cas reassured him.  The fallen angel tried not to let it show in his face how much it hurt to see Dean like this, to know that it was his fault Dean was so lost.  When the hunter nodded jerkily, Cas carefully settled his hand over Dean's again.  Dean stayed with him, fingers kneading his wrist before he lessened the pressure.  A half-inhale and Dean was gone, and Cas leaned back until the hunter finished the breath.  

With an effort of will, Dean carefully let go of his arm, clenching his fingers into a fist instead.  He really, really didn’t want to, but it was better than making Cas push his hand away again like when he was—  Dean tried to cut the thought off but it was too late and he froze again.  

Cas’s fingers had barely brushed the backs of Dean’s knuckles when the hunter got stuck again.  “Everything is okay, Dean,”  he murmured, drawing back.  “You’re safe.”

It took Dean a few moments before he blinked and nodded.  He couldn’t bring himself to speak, but when Cas reached out again he turned his hand under Cas’s so their fingertips touched.  

Cas wrapped his fingers around Dean’s gently.   The bandages were a mess, and Dean’s fingertips were sticky with blood, but the hunter had let go of his arm for Cas and that was a small success at least.  “Is this all right?"

“Yeah,” Dean rasped.  “I’m okay, I—”

“Dean?”  Sam abruptly walked into the room, and the action was enough to rattle Dean’s concentration.  He froze with his hand in Cas’s.  

Cas tore his hand away from Dean’s, trying not to look guilty.  He had no reason to, he told himself.  This had been Dean’s idea to begin with, and he had been okay.  Cas hadn’t done anything wrong.  Still, he couldn't help the defensive note in his voice as he told Sam, “Dean asked me to sit by him.”

Sam didn’t said anything at first, just stared.  Cas was sitting next to Dean and had been holding his hand, and Sam thought Dean might have actually been mobile before he came in, although he wasn’t sure.  His brother was certainly frozen now, fingers still curled slightly around the shape of Cas’s.  The angel looked nervous, like he was waiting for Sam to shout at him.  

“He did?”  Sam finally managed.  “That’s… good?”

Cas eased away from Dean’s side.  “Dean thought he could work through the freezing if he could convince himself that I’m safe.”

“Doesn’t really look like he could,”  Sam said faintly.  He was torn between his gut reaction of fear and distrust at finding Cas and Dean so close together and relief that Dean wasn’t going to give up on Cas just yet.  Then he noticed Dean’s red eyes and the tears on his face, and clenched his jaw.  Before he could do more than take a step towards the bed, Dean unfroze.

“I was doing fine until you distracted me,” Dean mumbled, drawing his arms over his stomach.  He watched Cas shift away from him but didn’t make any move to stop him.  It was easier with him farther away.  

“Right.”  Sam tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible.  “I was thinking that it was about dinner time, Dean, if you want to come help me cook.”

Dean didn’t look at Sam, just fiddled with his shirtsleeves, trying to keep the disheveled bandages out of view.  “Thought you didn’t trust me around knives and stuff.”

“Never said I was going to let you near any knives or stuff,”  Sam answered with forced calm, glancing at Cas.  The angel didn’t look surprised, so Sam figured Dean had told him about the cutting.

Oh.  Right.  Dean forced a half smile at Sam and shakily got to his feet.  He felt… worn.  Frayed.  And the truth was he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to keep it together in the room alone with Cas, so it was probably a good thing that Sam had shown up when he did.  “Yeah, I can help,” he said.

Cas stood too.  “Do you need any other assistance?”  he asked hesitantly.  Dean froze, which gave Cas plenty of time to see the dismay plainly written across his face.  

Sam noticed it too.  “I think we’re okay for now,” he said.  “I’ll let you know when we’ve got food for you.”  

“Of course.  I wanted to finish the chapter anyway,”  Cas agreed hastily.  Stupid.  That had been an unexpectedly promising start to repairing their friendship, but it was just a start.  Since Dean hadn’t moved yet, Cas crossed in front of him and climbed back into his bunk, burying his nose in Sam’s book without really looking at it.

Dean hesitated, then dropped his eyes to the floor and left the room without looking at Cas again.  He felt like a dick for keeping Cas locked away, but he didn’t think he could be around him anymore right now.  

Sam paused before following his brother out.  He wanted to say something to Cas, but didn’t really know what.  The angel was pretending to be absorbed in his novel, so Sam just left him there, closing the door behind himself.

Dean didn’t go to the kitchen when he left.  He went to the couch, pressing hard on his forearms and trying to keep the blood from getting on anything.  How could Dean and Cas have gone from where they were a week ago—indescribably happy, with the feeling that they were building something—to _here_ like nothing that had come before even mattered?  A feeling of loss settled itself deep into Dean, permeating each breath, and he had to fight back tears.

He didn’t want this.  He didn’t even know what he was doing, not with Cas, not with himself, and he wanted Sam, but he also wanted to be alone with his pocketknife.  He felt too shaky, too close to freezing out.  But when he heard Sam shut the door to Cas’s room behind him, he very deliberately released his wrist and tried to tidy the bandages the best he could.  

“Dean?”  Sam followed his brother into the living room.  Dean was sitting on the sofa, curled up defensively.  His brother jerked and glanced up at him, eyes wide.  “It’s okay, Dean.  I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”  Sam sat carefully next to his brother on the sofa.  His eyes fell to the bandages that Dean had unsuccessfully been trying to neaten, and he frowned.

“I’m fine, Sam,” Dean said.  He hoped Sam wouldn’t interrogate him again, or worse, make him freeze.  Watching Sam carefully, he pulled his arms against himself to hide the bandages better.

“Stop it.  You’re gonna get blood on yourself, and we just washed all the clothes,” was all Sam could think to say.  Hadn’t Cas tried to stop Dean from hurting himself?  There was no way the angel wouldn’t have noticed Dean messing his wrists up as badly as they were.  Maybe he had been afraid of scaring Dean, so he hadn’t said anything about it?  “You need to clean that up before it gets infected.”

Dean moved his arms away from his shirt at Sam’s order.  “It’ll be fine,” he said, then scrubbed his face with his hands.  His voice went quiet.  “I don’t want you to see.”

“I’ve pretty much seen it already,”  Sam responded gently.  “Let me take care of you?”

Dean shook his head a little, biting the inside of his cheek.  If Sam flipped out at him right now, he’d fall apart.  Even now his eyes were wet and he felt like there was a rock crushing his chest.  But Sam wasn’t acting like he had before.  And he trusted Sam.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Okay.”  

“Let me get some fresh bandages, then.  I’ll be right back.”  Sam went into the kitchen and ran some warm water into a bowl, then grabbed bandages and a tee shirt that had been ruined because the blood never really washed out of it from the bags by the door.  When he got back to the sofa, Dean was sitting exactly where Sam had left him.  Sam hated to see his brother like this, so clearly shaken and ashamed.  “Okay.  Can I see one of your arms?”  he asked, carefully settling onto the sofa again.

Dean nodded shortly, then cautiously started to unwrap the bandages.  His right wrist first because it was less torn up and he hadn’t been messing messing with it as much. He glanced warily at Sam as he did so, trying to read his brother’s face, and was relieved to find that Sam didn’t look upset.  Just… sad.  Worried.  Those emotions Dean could deal with because they were predictable.  “I can do this myself, you know,” he said when Sam reached out to take his arm.  

“Yeah, maybe, but I’m going to help you for now.”  Sam dunked part of the tee shirt in the water and started wiping the dried blood off Dean’s arm as tenderly as he could, trying not to cause his brother any more pain.  To his alarm, Sam saw that there were fresher cuts overlaying the first ones, cuts that were much cleaner than the tears from the broken glass.  He paused, still gripping Dean’s arm, and met his brother’s gaze.  “You got a knife or something, didn’t you?”

Dean paled.  Obviously he’d know that Sam would notice, but he’d been hoping he wouldn’t mention it.  “I—  Yeah.”  No sense in pretending he hadn’t when Sam could see it.  

“Can I have it?”  

Dean swallowed and shook his head.  He was quiet for a long moment, then glanced at Sam.  “Are you going to make me freeze up again?”

Sam seriously considered lying and telling Dean yes, until he realized that Dean’s arm, which he hadn’t even tried to pull away from Sam, was shaking.  Dean was shaking all over, although he was trying to hide it.  “No, Dean,” he sighed.  “I’m not.  I told you I wouldn’t, remember?”

Dean nodded mutely as Sam gently dried his arm and began wrapping a new bandage around his wrist.  When it was secured, Sam looked at him expectantly for his left arm.  Dean hesitated.  “This one’s worse than the other one.”  

Sam didn’t trust himself to say anything, so he just held out a hand until Dean slowly unwrapped the bandages and offered his arm up.  It was a lot worse, although Sam supposed that made sense since Dean was right-handed.  He was as careful as possible, but Dean still winced and bit his lip as the shirt dragged over the raw edges of the wounds.  The shirt was mostly streaked with the red-brown of dried blood by now, to match the water in the bowl and the mess of bandages on the floor.  Sam tried to calculate the blood loss in comparison to the stress Dean had been under and his lack of food and restful sleep, and decided that the shaking was probably not all from nervousness.

“You’ve got to eat something when I get you bandaged again, okay?”

Dean sighed.  “Every time I try to eat I feel like I’m gonna puke.”

Sam frowned. “You’re not sick, are you?”  He reflexively reached out to feel Dean’s forehead for a temperature.

Dean leaned away from Sam’s hand.  “No, dude, I’m not.  And seriously, back off.  It’s not a fever and you don’t need to treat me like a kid.  It’s just more of the same shit.  Haven’t felt like eating anything since Castiel messed me up.”  Just thinking of Castiel made him freeze up for a few seconds, then he took a deep breath and continued.  “Fixing me didn’t change that.” He glanced at Sam, but only for a moment.  “A lot of me didn’t get fixed.”  His hands were shaking.  Why was he _always_ shaking?  

“But if you don’t eat then you really are going to get sick,”  Sam argued.  “I know there’s some things that we haven’t figured out how to help you with, but one thing we can do is at least keep you physically healthy, right?”  Now that Sam was really examining at his brother, he didn’t like what he saw.  Dean claimed he wasn’t sick, but he looked it.  His face was pale, and Sam was pretty sure that he had lost weight.  It was ridiculous to think that, seeing as Dean had seemed normal a week ago, but the change was definitely noticeable.

“I know, I know.”  Dean pulled his hand from Sam as his brother finished up the bandage on his left forearm.  “I’ll eat.”  

“Good.”  Sam let Dean precede him into the kitchen.  “Any food preference?”

“Something that doesn’t taste like cardboard,” Dean said, opening the fridge and peering in.  Nothing looked all that promising.  

They decided on grilled cheese, and Dean ate a whole sandwich because Sam was watching, concentrating on each bite to try to avoid getting nauseous.  When he was done, he waited until Sam was busy cooking Cas a sandwich before quietly getting up from his place to sneak off.  Sam noticed, of course.  He was on hyper alert when it came to Dean these days (not that it was ever easy to fool Sam in the past), so by now it was more surprising when he _didn’t_ notice something than when he did.  

“Going somewhere?”  

Dean didn’t sigh, but he wanted to.  He also didn’t turn around to speak to Sam.  “Yeah.  To bed.  I’m wiped, Sam.  It hasn’t exactly been the world’s easiest day for me.”  

“Can you wait until I bring Cas his sandwich? Then I’ll come with you.”  Sam hadn’t forgotten that Dean was still hiding something he could use to cut himself.

“What?  No.”  This time he turned around and glared at Sam.  “You seriously don’t trust me to get changed and into bed by myself?”  This was getting to be absurd.  

“Not really, no.”  Sam hesitated.  “I know you’ve still got that knife or whatever.”

Dean held out his hands.  “I solemnly promise I won’t cut again tonight.  Happy now?”  He spun on his heel and stalked down the hallway.  Yeah, Sam was concerned, but that didn’t mean he had to be an asshole about it.  

“Dean—”  Sam called, starting after his brother.  Then he stopped with a sigh.  He couldn’t just keep chasing Dean around the place.  He wasn’t going to forcibly take the knife away, and they both knew it, so there wasn’t really anything he could do but lecture Dean.  That tactic clearly wasn’t working, so until Sam came up with another solution he really would just have to trust Dean.  The realization rankled because ordinarily Sam would have no problem trusting Dean with a hell of a lot, but not now.  Not this.  

Grudgingly accepting Dean’s sarcastic promise as the truth, Sam went to bring Cas his dinner.

For his part, Dean _didn’t_ cut, just got changed into a pair of flannel pants and a tee shirt that were _his_ , not Sam’s, and went through the rest of his nighttime routine, nevermind the fact that it was only a little after six.  Sam was still in Cas’s room by the time Dean got into bed, and he couldn’t even pretend that he didn’t want Sam close as he slept.  He knew better now.  Nightmares.  The thought of them made him freeze up for three and a half minutes before he’d calmed himself down enough to move.  He curled his fingers around his wrist—not pressing, just comforting—and stared out into the hall from his bed, waiting for Sam to come check on him.

Sam only stayed with Cas long enough to give him the food and, a little belatedly, ask if he knew of anything that could help with Dean’s unconscious freezing.  He didn’t mention the scene he had walked in on, and neither did Cas, and that was probably for the best.  Sam still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Cas had no answers for him, so Sam said goodnight and tried not to look like he was hurrying as he went into the bedroom where Dean was.

His brother was curled up under the covers like he was going to sleep, but the light was still on and Dean’s eyes were wide open, staring at the doorway.  When Sam arrived, Dean looked relieved for a moment before he glanced away.

“Guessing you’re not gonna sleep at six.”  Dean gave him an awkward half smile, not quite pleading.  “I mean, I think this is the earliest I’ve gone to bed since…” He thought about it for a moment.  “Ever.”  

“I’m pretty beat, actually,”  Sam said, trying to ignore the flash of pathetic hope that crossed Dean’s too-expressive face.  “If you’re okay with it I’ll turn in now too.  Just let me brush my teeth and stuff.”

Dean just nodded.  He couldn’t help but feel bad about it, though, as he waited for Sam to get ready for bed.  When Sam came back, Dean didn’t move over for him right away, just said, “You don’t have to go to bed in the middle of the day for me.  I don’t want to make you.”

“Six p.m. isn’t exactly the middle of the day, Dean.  Move over.”  Dean didn’t say anything else, just scooted towards the wall.  As Sam climbed into the bed, there was the now-customary shuffling as they settled.  They couldn’t keep doing this, Sam mused, as Dean’s eyelids started to droop.  Not only was this bed too small, but it just wasn’t feasible to do every night, especially once Sam was back at school.  Sam knew he was going to be here until morning now, and while he didn’t really mind, it was strange to be even pretending to go to sleep so early.  He thought of the research he could have been doing to look for help for Dean, and sighed inwardly.  This was more immediately soothing to his brother, and maybe the nightmares were just the normal sort of trauma and Dean would get over them. Long after Dean’s breathing had evened out into sleep, Sam finally drifted off himself, thoughts still spinning in his head.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild villain appears! ~Pokémon music~

**Chapter 17**

**“What if it’s all just a black abyss and lips that kiss you?”  
~ _The Sun,_ Jukebox the Ghost**

 By noon the next day, they had mostly gotten their scattered things together and in bags.  Dean was gathering the last of his laundry and shoving it into a duffel when he blanked out completely again.  It wasn’t a short one, either.  It went on long enough for Sam to finish up his shower and find Dean trapped there, right by the door, hand still clasping the zipper on the bag.  

“Dean?”  Not that Sam expected a response, but he walked over to his brother and stooped to put a hand on his shoulder.  “Hey, everything’s okay.”  Just in case this was a stress-based thing and Dean was upset about something.  That seemed doubtful, though, since he was just putting away their stuff and Cas had been cloistered in his room for most of the day.  The angel had tried to help, but Dean’s nervousness with him around was enough that Cas politely excused himself and left the rest of the packing to the brothers.  

Dean didn’t move, and Sam sighed.  He didn’t want to leave him to continue packing, so he sat on the floor next to Dean and waited.  

“Bloody hell!”  

Sam started, scrambling to his feet at the sight of the familiar figure in the well-tailored suit that was suddenly standing in the center of the room.  He flicked his eyes to the floor, and was relieved to see that the devil’s trap he’d hastily drawn there was still intact, and Crowley was actually _in_ it.  That was something, at least.  The demon turned around and scowled at Sam, sticking his hands into his pockets nonchalantly.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t moose and squirrel.  If I’d realized you two were here I would have been a little more careful.”  Crowley’s eyes dropped to Dean, still crouching by the door, and he raised his eyebrows.  “My, Dean.  I see you’ve had some work done.”

Sam shifted so that his body was between Crowley and Dean.  “What the hell are you doing here?” He glanced towards the bedroom, wondering if Cas had heard Crowley’s arrival or if he should call him.  As if in answer to his thoughts, Cas wandered in from the bedroom.

“Sam?  I thought I heard— Crowley?  What’s going on?”  Cas stopped halfway into the room, eyes wide.

“That’s what I’m wondering,” Sam said, keeping his eyes on Crowley now, but Crowley wasn’t looking at him.  He was watching Dean.  

“As it turns out,” Crowley said slowly, “I was looking for Dean.  What a surprise.”  

“What do you mean, you were looking for Dean,” Sam demanded.  He glanced at his brother, hoping Dean was moving again, but he was still frozen.  

“What’s wrong with your brother, then?”  Crowley ignored Sam’s question, pacing to the edge of the circle to try to get a better look at Dean, but Sam moved with him.  “Oh come on, Sam.  I’m not going to do anything from in here.  Besides, it looks more like you should be protecting Dean from _him_.”  Crowley jerked his chin at Cas.

Before Cas or Sam could respond, Dean zipped the duffel bag shut and sighed, then stood and stretched.  

“Dean,” Sam said, voice unusually tense, which made Dean jump.  How had Sam managed to get out of the shower and right next to Dean without—and that’s when he realized what had happened.  He’d had lost time.  Again.

“How long have I—”  When he turned he almost went for the knife in his pocket, meager protection though it may be, because “ _Crowley?_ ” Dean stared at the demon in the trap.  Then he looked incredulously at his brother.  “What the hell is he doing here?”  And when did he get here?  And how much had Dean missed?  There could have been a full fight that he’d been checked out through, just sitting there like a lump.  And that’s when he saw Cas, out of the bedroom and standing on the other side of the room.  He froze briefly then unfroze.  

“So you aren’t aware of anything that just happened?” Crowley smiled slowly.  “Interesting.”

The predatory gleam in the demon’s eyes made Sam nervous.  “Dean asked you a question, Crowley,”  he snapped.  “Why are you here?”

“I told you, I’m here for _Dean_.”  

“What the hell do you mean, you’re here for me?” Dean demanded, clenching his fists.  His eyes scored the devil’s trap Crowley was caught in, checking and rechecking that he was secure.  Then he glanced back at Cas, just to make sure he didn’t get startled if the fallen angel came closer.  Better to know where Cas was.  

“I mean you’re a bloody beacon, Dean,” Crowley said.  “That soul of yours…”  He raised both eyebrows and gave Dean an approving smile.  “It’s quite something.”

Dean looked back over at Cas, half for some sort of response to that—the guy was the only one of them who knew anything about what was going on with Dean’s soul—and half in accusation.

“What do you mean?”  Cas asked roughly, not meeting Dean’s gaze.  “A beacon for what?”  Crowley’s grin widened as he looked around at the three of them.

“You really don’t know?  I assumed you had done it on purpose along with the rest of the blatant mutilation.”  Crowley stuck his hands into his pockets, giving off an air of total relaxation despite being trapped.  “I have to congratulate you on that, by the way, beautiful work.  Didn’t know you had it in you.”  The demon smiled slyly.  “Although technically I suppose that virus spell my friend cooked up gave you a little help.  How long have you and Dean been fucking each other, anyways?”

The demon’s words rooted Dean to the spot.  Fucking each other?  They weren’t fucking, and they hadn’t been, because what Castiel had done to Dean did not constitute fucking each other, it had been—  Dean struggled to stop thinking about it.  He needed to focus on the bigger threat.  Crowley was here, right now, in front of him, and Castiel wasn’t, so Dean needed to get a grip and calm down.

Cas couldn’t help but cringe at the words, guilt twisting his insides.  Crowley raised an eyebrow at him, then turned to Dean.  The hunter was frozen again, which Cas had expected, but Crowley frowned slightly and stepped closer to the edge of the devil’s trap, eyes fixed on Dean.

“Hang on, virus?  That was you?  Not really your style is it?”  Sam shot Cas a nervous glance, but the angel was staring at the floor again.  Sam shifted a little closer to his brother.   “Calm down!” he hissed under his breath.  “You’re all right, Dean.  Crowley’s just trying to get under your skin.”  

At Sam’s words, Dean unfroze, briefly touching Sam’s arm—‘thanks’ and ‘you’re right’ and ‘I’m okay now’ all in one.  Then he took a deep breath and tried not to grab his wrist to steady himself.  He could let Sam drive on this one.  All he had to do was focus on not freezing and not looking at Cas.  

Crowley didn’t answer for a moment, still staring thoughtfully at Dean.  Then he seemed to remember himself and glanced at Sam in irritation.  “Pay attention, Moose.  I already told you the answer to that question.  No, it wasn’t my spell.  I am, however, here to reap the unexpected benefits of it.”  He turned back to Cas.  “Wouldn’t it be ironic if you weren’t fucking him before this?  I mean, you two make sex-eyes at each other for years, and then when you finally get down and dirty, well.”

“You shut the hell up,” Dean growled, forgetting his decision to let Sam handle this.  “We didn’t.” He dug his thumb into his arm, repeated the words to himself, and didn’t freeze.

“Please,” Crowley said.  “It’s written all over your face.  And your sternum.  Nice little signature, Castiel.  He’s got his name carved right into you, Dean.”

Dean turned and looked at Cas, eyes widening and jaw clenching.

Cas could only stare back at Dean. Honestly, the fallen angel had forgotten the way he had changed the sigils on Dean’s ribs, back at the very beginning.  Even if he had thought of it since, he wouldn’t have had the Grace to do anything about it.  Putting Dean's head back together had taken everything, and even then Cas hadn’t been able to fix him completely.  The silence in the room stretched painfully as Sam and Crowley both watched Cas for his reaction.  Sam looked genuinely confused, and Crowley was just smug.  

Very deliberately, Cas turned and walked out of the room. He couldn't bring himself to say a word, not with Crowley there, so he just left. He drifted back into his bedroom and sat on the bed, leaving the door open behind him in case one of the brothers called him back.  He hoped they didn’t, though, because he had no excuse. Cas tried to turn his thoughts away from the brand he had inadvertently left on Dean, to try and figure out why Crowley was there instead.  He had no answer, though.

“Dammit,” Dean hissed.  He stared after Cas for a moment, debating between staying here with Sam or going after the angel and _demanding_ … an explanation?  An apology?  Maybe he just wanted to rage at him.  Then Dean made eye contact with his brother.  “Five minutes.  I’ll be back.”   _Which means if it’s more than five minutes, you sure as hell had better come get me_.  He left the room, hoping Sam had gotten the memo.  

“Well, your brother’s got guts, I’ll give him that,”  Crowley murmured, watching Dean storm out of the room.  “Or he’s just stupid, hanging around Castiel after what happened.”  He turned back to Sam.  “What exactly did happen, by the way?  And don’t spare the details; it sounds like I missed all the fun.”

 

Out of sight from Crowley, Dean pushed his way into the bedroom after Cas.  When the door shut behind him, he stood there for a moment, staring at Cas.   He wasn’t going to get stuck.  He dug a thumb into his right wrist.  “You gonna explain the fact that apparently _your name_ is carved into my chest?”  

Cas looked up when Dean came in, startled.  He hadn’t been expecting the hunter to actually follow him in here.  “It was at the beginning,”  he mumbled.  He couldn’t meet Dean’s furious gaze.  “So that I could find you again if I lost you.  At the end, I was so focused on healing your soul that I didn’t— I couldn’t—”  Cas trailed off.

“So now you can find me, wherever I am, forever?” The thought was horrifying, and the pain in his wrist wasn’t enough to keep Dean moving; he froze, still clutching his wrist, still staring angrily at Cas.

“No!  I mean, I could, if I were still an angel.  Any angel could.  I don’t have Grace anymore, though.”  Cas didn’t look up until the silence stretched uncomfortably long.  When he did, it was to meet Dean’s frozen glare. “I swear that’s the truth.  Given the chance I would erase it and put the warding sigils back.”

When Dean could move again, he said, “And then you thought you’d just keep it a secret?  Like I didn’t need to _know_ that I’m not hidden anymore and anything can find me and when they do, they’re gonna see your name branded into me like I’m your fucking bitch?”  Dean’s face felt hot, and his chest was tight.  He didn’t even know what he wanted Cas to say.  All he knew was that he wanted it gone.

“I’m sorry, Dean.  I should have told you, I know.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Dean said.  Whatever rage was keeping him together was overrun by the ache in his chest, and he crushed the palm of his hand against his eyes as if it would keep the emotion at bay.  “Cas, I can’t—”  He paused, steeled himself, and restarted.  “If there’s anything else you’re keeping from me about what happened, now’s the time to spill.  Unless you think _Crowley_ ’s the one who should be telling me this shit.”

For a long moment, Cas debated with himself.  Should he tell Dean the state of his soul?  It wouldn’t be easy for the hunter to take, but it would still be better than hearing it from Crowley.  And Cas was almost positive that Crowley had noticed, with the way he was staring at Dean.  The thought sent an uncomfortable prickle up Cas’s spine.

“Cas?”  Dean asked again, jolting the fallen angel out of his thoughts.

“Yes,”  Cas blurted, before he could change his mind again.  “There is something else.  I wasn’t exactly keeping this from you; I’ve only noticed it over the past few days, and I’m not even sure if this is what’s really happening, which is why I didn’t want to tell you until I was more certain.”  The look on Dean’s face made Cas pause, but he continued on at Dean’s impatient head jerk.  “Your soul might be… unraveling, I suppose.  I don’t know what else to call it.  The remaining damage isn’t healing on its own like I thought it would.  It’s possible that it’s getting worse.”

Worse?  No, no, that couldn’t be happening.  The words barely even registered at first.  Dean just looked at Cas, half confused, and shook his head.  “No, it’s supposed to— You _fixed_ me, and it can’t, it can’t—” That was when he froze, still looking at Cas with bewilderment, hurt, and terror mixing on his face.  His eyes welled up even with him frozen, tears spilling over onto his cheeks.  He needed Sam.  Or to be alone and put a bullet through his head.  But Sam was with Crowley and needed to deal with him.  Crowley.  Crowley knew something about his soul.  He didn’t know what, or even if it would help him—knowing Crowley, it would probably do the opposite—, but maybe…  

“I’ll find a way to fix it, Dean,”  Cas said desperately. “Sam and I will help you, I promise.”  He wanted to get up and hug Dean, but that touch would be doubly unwanted right now, so he just clutched the edge of the mattress tightly and looked sadly up at the hunter.

Cas’s words weren’t a comfort to Dean.  He knew that they meant nothing, that they just were empty reassurances, that Cas had no clue if they’d be able to find a way to put Dean back together.  He hated being stuck like this, blankly staring at Cas and trying not to see him at all, because seeing him never helped.  It just hurt, in too many ways for Dean to think about right now, especially with Crowley in the other room.

 

“Decided to have their lovers' quarrel in private I suppose?” Crowley observed lazily as the door slammed on Dean's back.  “Guess that leaves us to chat like proper gentlemen.”

“Why did you have the virus spell made?” Sam asked bluntly, glaring at Crowley.

The demon lifted his hands, fingers spread.  “Why not?  When a friend of yours has a project they want to try out, you give them a hand with it, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah, because you’re all about being helpful.”  Sam knew that Crowley was holding back information, but there were more important questions. “Why are you here now?  The spell is gone.”

“That’s a matter for me and your brother to discuss.  I’m sure Dean will appreciate me waiting for his return, seeing as it does mostly concern him.”  Crowley smirked.  “Though I suppose that you’re already accustomed to being the patriarch of the family now that Dean’s half mad.”

“Dean is _not_ ,” Sam ground out, “half-mad. And you can damn well tell me now.  What do you want with him?  Start explaining before I get the holy water.”

“Like I said, already accustomed to being patriarch.”  Crowley rolled his eyes as Sam moved back towards his duffle.  “Very well, if you’re so eager to hear about my business opportunity… I suppose I’d might as well talk to you.  First off, how is Dean?  A little absent?  Hurting on the inside?  Cries himself to sleep?”

Sam gritted his teeth, wishing he didn't have to answer, but unfortunately Crowley had the information, and knowledge is power.  If Sam wanted to learn anything he was going to have to play along.  “You obviously know how he is,” Sam growled.  “Now tell me why.”

“Why?  You know why, moron, it’s because that freaking angel crushed his soul!  I always forget how slow you Winchesters are.”  Crowley put his hands in his pockets.  “Let me ask briefly about you, Sam.  You were largely out of hunting, right?  Living your own life, getting a much-needed education at whatever sorry school thought your idiotic brain was worth teaching...  Then your blundering big brother got himself in trouble and you had to come play clean-up.  Must be hard.”

“We're family; I'll always come help him,” Sam replied instantly.  Sam could afford to miss some classes.  Once he got Dean on his feet again, he could go back.  Part of Sam wondered what he would do if Dean never recovered.  Would he bring Dean back to his apartment with him? What if Sam had to choose between living his own life and taking care of Dean? Sam forced back the thoughts of him dropping out of school for Dean. That wasn't going to happen. Crowley was just being Crowley.  “Besides, it isn’t forever.”

“Sam, Sam, Sam, you poor, naïve sop,” Crowley said.  “You really think that your brother can just get over this?  Do you not _understand_ the severity of his situation?  This isn’t what happened to him after getting hit by a truck.  This isn’t losing daddy dearest.  This isn’t going on a vacation to the pit.  Your friend Cas took your brother’s soul and _mutilated_ it.  Does that not make sense in your sorry little moose brain?  Is that too hard for you to understand?  He’s lucky to even be walking!”

Sam shook his head, eyes bright.  “We’re gonna fix it. He’ll be okay.”

“He won’t,” Crowley amended, “but you do have options.  Number one.”  He held up one finger.  “You can bring darling Dean back to Connecticut with you—yes, I know where you live.  Then you can finish up school with Dean hanging around your space all the time.  Introduce him to all your friends; tell them in secret that he’s got some problems and to be gentle with him.  Dean will know you tell them these things and he’ll resent you for it.  Ungrateful snot.  You’ll have adopted yourself an infant.  A perpetual infant who you’ll have to feed and keep off alcohol because that just makes it worse and comfort every night when you wake to him crying.  And that’s the rest of your life.”

Sam ground his teeth.  “You're lying!" he said.  “Tell me how to fix Dean's soul!”  The hunter rummaged in his bag until he found a flask of holy water, which he proceeded to splash in Crowley's face.  The action earned an angry hiss from the demon, but the hiss evolved into a laugh momentarily.

“Come on, Sam. You don't know enough about anything to even intrigue me, much less scare me into giving you a different answer.  If that's how this is gonna go, you might as well call your brother back in and let him give you some pointers.  I'm sure he remembers _something_ that you might find useful.”

“Shut up!” Sam yelled, splashing the water on Crowley again just because he knew the demon was right and didn't like it.  He fell silent for a moment, then muttered, “Just because I'm asking doesn't mean I'm interested.  What's option two?”

“Of course.” Crowley smiled cruelly.  “Option two is that you put him in a care facility.  Then you can actually have your own life, which is a plus.”

Sam scowled. “I'm not dropping Dean in a care center like a piece of luggage; try again.”

“Touchy.” Crowley smirked.  Seeing Sam's face darken, he quickly continued.  “Option three ends with Dean happy.”

Sam hesitated.  “Gonna need a little more information than that, Crowley.”

“Why?” Crowley said.   “It’s not a solution you would like, though Dean might.  I’d prefer to present it to him, thanks.”

After a moment of careful thought, Sam came to a decision.  Dean wouldn't want Sam making a choice for him anyway, and if Crowley did actually have a way to help then Dean should be the first to know.  Plus, Sam realized, his brother had been in the other room with Cas for too long.

 

In the other room, still frozen, Dean could hear pieces of Crowley and Sam’s conversation.  Something about options.  What Sam was giving up.  There was one thing that Dean knew: when it came to Dean mooching off of Sam for the rest of his life, Crowley was right.  Dean couldn’t do that to his brother.  Sam’s protests that Crowley was lying were childish.  They did have to make arrangements.

But what options did they really have beyond Sam taking him in or dropping him off somewhere with therapists and people to cook him food, keep him away from sharp things, and sit next to him to quiet his cries in the night.  Humiliating.  They’d probably want to drug him up on anxiety meds and depression meds and drugs to make him sleep through the night.  Well, he didn’t really know what they’d do; he’d never really thought about places like that.  Maybe they wouldn’t even take him.  The thought was nice, that he could be not screwed up enough for him to need a place like that.  If he didn’t need it now, though, and if Cas was right, he’d need it soon.  

He wouldn’t go, he decided.  He’d live alone, no matter how much of wreck he was.  He could take a bus if he needed to go somewhere, try not to get stuck and miss his stop.  Maybe he could handle a job bagging groceries or something.  If he couldn’t, he didn’t know what he’d do for money.  He’d make it work.  He _could_.  But then, he’d be alone, _really_ alone, and he didn’t want to be, didn’t want to have terrifying nights with no one else around, and if that made him a child, so be it.  He couldn’t do it.  And then he’d probably carve his wrists to ribbons and drink too much and die early with liver failure.  He did need someone with him, but he wouldn’t do that to Sam, and he wouldn’t stay with strangers, so it would just be him.  There was no one left to help him; Bobby was gone, as was Ellen, he’d erased himself from Lisa and Ben’s lives, and now there was just him and his brother.  He didn’t have any friends who would take in a crippled hunter who drank too much and refused to eat and cut himself and would wake them up every night.  

The truth was, with his soul getting worse, it might be better to just skip the whole production of failing, falling apart, and watching Sam’s pain at slowly losing him.  It had already started, and it hurt.  

That’s when Sam raised his voice and called Dean’s name from the other room, then said, “Can you and Cas come back in here for a few?  Crowley wants to talk.”

“Dean?” Cas said softly when Dean remained motionless.  “You don't have to go back out there.  Sam and I can handle Crowley.”  

Cas.  Had Dean not even considered Cas?  If he insisted that Cas look after him, the angel probably would, out of guilt.  But what way of living would that be, when it would hurt both of them to be near the other?  So Cas wasn’t an option.

He wished he could move.  Wished he could go out and pry some information out of Crowley, but he was still rooted to the spot.  

“I’ll send Sam in,”  Cas suggested, getting to his feet.  “One of us should be keeping an eye on Crowley until we know what to do with him.”

 

When Dean didn’t answer right away, Sam started towards the bedroom, but a moment later Cas appeared at the doorway.  Glancing back to reassure himself that Crowley was still in the devil’s trap, Sam hurried over to Cas.  “Is he—?”  

“He’s upset,”  Cas murmured, aware that Crowley was listening intently.  “I told him you would go in.  I’ll watch Crowley.”

“Okay,” Sam said.  “Just don’t let him get to you.”  Cas already looked pale and worn, though.  Having Crowley here now was too much.  “I’ll be right back.”  

“I’ll be fine, Sam,”  Cas reassured the hunter, brushing past him to stare stonily at Crowley.  The demon smiled smugly at him.

“You don’t look so good these days, Castiel.  Is humanity not agreeing with you?”

“Shut up,”  Cas growled, pacing around the edge of the devil’s trap.

“Well, it’s to be expected.  The Grace they make these days, it’s so cheap.  Burns dirty and leaves the engine a mess, you know?  Too bad you’re all out of the good stuff.”

Before Cas could come up with a nonviolent response to Crowley’s taunting, Sam came back into the room, Dean following close behind.  Sam started to come over to Cas, but when he realized that Dean wasn’t following he backtracked to stand by his brother.  Dean refused to look at any of them; he kept his gaze fixed on the paint lines at their feet, and he was gripping one of his wrists tightly.

Dean didn’t say anything for a long moment and Sam took a deep breath, hoping that Dean could take whatever Crowley had to say.  “You wanted to talk to Dean, and now he’s here.  So get talking.”  

Crowley glanced at Cas like he wanted to say something else, but then shrugged and turned to Dean with a smile.  “So, Dean, how much of our conversation did you hear?  This shack doesn't seem very private, but I’m not sure how loudly you and your ex-angel were making out in there.  Need me to repeat any of it?”

Dean stilled for a few seconds, but the pain in his wrist helped ground him.  When he could move, he glanced half-fearfully at Cas before looking at Sam, who gave him a little nod.  He took a deep breath, then looked at Crowley.  He was surprised the demon wasn’t still talking, filling Dean’s silence with more biting comments, but Crowley seemed content to just wait, albeit with his eyes slightly narrowed and fixed on Dean all the while.  “The way I see it,” Dean rasped, trying to ignore Crowley’s previous words, “you wouldn’t be here unless you wanted something.  And I know that you know something about my soul.  So why don’t you tell me what you want and what my soul has to do with it.”  

“Fine, we’ll skip the foreplay.”  Crowley shrugged.  “Remember how I said your soul is like a beacon?  It’s probably more accurate to say it’s like a defibrillator.  Charge builds up and then bam!”  Crowley made an exploding gesture with one hand.  “It lets off extra energy in a burst.  Apparently that’s when you lose time.”

“But why wouldn’t he be aware of  it?” Sam asked.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?  I’m still trying to figure out why he only lets off energy half the time he’s frozen.”

“I understand,”  Cas said quietly.  If Dean’s soul was losing energy like that, it had the potential to be extremely harmful him, especially with him already so fragile. His soul was probably protecting itself the only way it could, by completely shutting down until the “charge”, as Crowley called it, dissipated.

“Care to share with the class?”  Crowley asked, interrupting Cas’s thoughts.  The angel glared at him, and there was a little of his old authority in the look.  

“No.”

“Fine,” Crowley snapped.  He turned from Cas to Dean, who was listening quietly, standing slightly behind his brother.  “Anyway, Dean.  Your soul might not be much to look at, the twisted wreck, but every time it resets, my.”  He smiled.  “Brighter than the brightest star.  And what a glorious amount of energy it releases.  More energy than those nasty purgatory souls that Castiel and I were using not too long ago.  Well.  Not in one go, but your soul is a power plant like no other.”

“If you really think that you can sweet-talk me into letting you use my soul as some kind of battery, you’re insane,” Dean said.  “We’re done.”  He didn’t move, though, didn’t turn to walk back into the bedroom.  That meant turning his back on both Crowley and on Cas, and he didn’t think he could make it to the door before freezing up right now.  Instead, he stared at Sam’s shoulder and shifted his grip on his wrist so that his thumb nail pressed against the bandaged cuts.  

Crowley smiled and put his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels.  “You look thin, Dean.  Starving yourself for that perfect bikini bod, or is your brother just not feeding you?”

“Shut up.”

“But this is what I actually wanted to talk about, Dean.  Your well-being, of course.”

Dean narrowed his eyes.  “My well-being.”  As if ‘well-being’ was something he could achieve, let alone something Crowley would want for him.  

With a chuckle, Crowley said, “You do have options, Dean.  Would you like to hear them?”

Dean glanced at his brother, but said nothing.  

“Dean, he might be able to help,” Sam said softly. “Let’s just hear what he has to say, okay?”  Sam hated Crowley, he knew Dean knew that, but if there was even the tiniest chance that the demon could help them… well.  None of them were above making a deal.

Dean gritted his teeth and looked back at Crowley.

“Don’t just dismiss this offhand, Dean.  Really think about it,” Crowley advised.  “Instead of clinging to the giraffe’s apron strings or living in a Home, I could make arrangements for you.  Set you up in a comfortable place.  One of my colleagues has recently created a variation of the poison the djinn use on victims.  Of course, it wouldn’t really qualify as a poison anymore.  Just fantasy bliss, forever and ever.  All that pain, gone.  I get a little bit of energy from your soul, you get peace.  And you’ll be better fed than you are now,” he added, looking him over again.

Sam let out a humorless snort of laughter.  “Like hell _that’s_ happening, Crowley.”  When Dean didn't immediately chime in, he turned to his brother, horror creeping into him at the look on Dean's face.  “Dean, come on, you're not seriously considering this are you?”

Dean turned his face away from his brother and looked at the floor.  “I don’t know, Sam.”

Cas wanted to protest alongside Sam, but his voice stuck in his throat. He stared at Dean, ignoring both Sam and Crowley.  Was this really what the hunter wanted? If it was, did Cas have any right at all to try and stop him?

Dean glanced at Sam, at his open-mouthed dismay, then at Cas, who was staring at him.  Their eyes met for a terrible moment, then Dean looked back at the floor.  “What’s the last option?”

“Dean,” Crowley said softly, almost kindly.  “You don’t need their approval for this.  They won’t matter if you choose that.”

“I asked you a question.”  Dean tried to sound harsh, but he knew he just sounded tired.  “Would you just answer me, Crowley?”  He was itching to tear at his wrists again, but hell if he would do that in front of Crowley and give the demon another thing to torture him about.  It would probably amuse Crowley, to see Dean hurt himself.  It was bad enough that he had noticed Dean just squeezing his arm.

“Fine, fine,” Crowley replied.  “If you insist.  Option four: when your soul resets, I skim off the energy from afar.  That should theoretically prevent you from blacking out and freezing up.  It’s a win-win situation, just like the other one, and a much better option than the ones where you don’t get my help.  What do you say, Dean?  It’s a good deal.”

Dean looked at his feet.  “What would you do with it?  The energy, I mean.”

“Oh, this and that.”

“Gonna have to give me more information than that.”

“Actually, I don’t,” Crowley said flippantly.  “I’m doing you a favor.”

“A favor.”                                                                                                                     

“Yes, you dunderhead.  Out of the goodness of my heart.”

“You don’t have a heart.”

“Ouch,” said Crowley.  “Better watch that tone if you want anything from me, boy.”

“I thought you were the one who wanted something from me.”

“It’s a mutual relationship.”  Crowley smiled.  “So.  What do you say?”  

Dean fidgeted, pulling his shirtsleeves and trying not to look at Sam or Cas.  He could feel their eyes on him, though, their silences heavy on his shoulders.  He wanted to go with Crowley.  Take the djinn drug and forget about everything but whatever fantasy his mind could make up.  He wondered what it would look like.  If he was capable of creating a world like the one he’d seen back when a djinn was killing him, just a normal life.  His mom still alive in a little house somewhere.  Sam with Jess, about to get married.  Him settled and stable and happy enough.  All those things seemed very far away, very impossible.  Dean didn’t know what could happen in his head now.  Too many things had happened there already.  And…  What if Cas was there?  He didn’t know what he’d do, if he’d think it was normal and okay or if he’d try to hide, if he could pretend ever that they were friends.  But what if they were together?  

Dean blanched, stilling for a moment as the others watched him.  No, he and Cas couldn’t be together.  He didn’t care if he didn’t remember, everything that had happened still happened and somewhere inside of him, he’d still know.  Or he’d figure it out, and he couldn’t do that, couldn’t survive like that, pretending all this shit never happened, even though fantasy Cas wouldn’t know anything about what really happened.  It was too much.  And that was just assuming that his mind created some mundane little world.  But he knew his mind.  Knew it wasn’t safe.  After all, back when he’d been normal he’d still managed to create monsters in the djinn dream.  Now, there was no telling what he’d do.  For all he knew, he’d imagine Castiel was real again.  

The thought was horrifying, and Dean felt his body lock up again.  He tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t happen, that djinn toxin was supposed to create happy fantasies.  But Dean _had_ been happy when Castiel had him, even though it hadn’t been by choice.  What if that false peace was the best his broken mind could come up with?

Sam watched with concern as Dean paled and then froze entirely.  He waited nervously, trying to figure out what his brother would decide and what he would do if Dean wanted to go with Crowley.  He couldn’t just let Dean leave with Crowley, could he?  Demons had screwed them over at every turn for their whole lives.  Who knew what Crowley would really do with Dean, or with the energy he would apparently be harvesting.  Sam glanced over at Cas, trying to gauge his thoughts.  The angel was dividing his attention equally between Dean, Crowley, and the floor under his feet.  

“Clock’s a-ticking, Dean,” Crowley said, but Dean still wasn’t moving.  Crowley rolled his eyes and gave Sam a look.  “Not very talkative, is he.”  

Sam glared at the demon, but it was Cas who answered.  “I think Dean’s silence may be indicative of his decision.”  The angel met Sam’s gaze briefly, then glanced back at Dean.

Dean didn’t say a word, though, couldn’t move to either refute or agree with Cas.  After another moment, Crowley gave a dramatic sigh and addressed Sam.  “Well, I’m not that concerned.  I’m playing nice for now, but I’ll get what I want in the end.  After all, last time Castiel wanted something from Dean, he just took it, didn’t he,” Crowley said with a smile at the angel.

Cas didn't mean to, but he cringed.  His gaze flicked to Crowley and then dropped to the floor.  The demon was right.  The _demon_ was right.  Cas had torn Dean apart in his selfishness and left the man wide open and defenseless.  If anyone less kind than those students had trapped him and taken Dean… the angel shuddered, tugging his too-large hoodie tighter around him like flimsy cloth armor.

“It wouldn’t even be difficult.  If Cas can do it, so can I.”  He turned to Dean and smiled.  “And you’re so vulnerable, Dean, it’s lovely.  Can’t put up much of a fight at all.  Besides, you’d like it, you little whore.  You liked what Castiel did to you, after all.”

“That’s it,”  Sam said, voice low and cold.  “You can take your options and shove them up your ass.  We’re done here.”

“The only one who’s been having things shoved up his ass lately is Dean,” Crowley retorted with an ugly sneer.  “And I doubt your brother will thank you for taking yet another choice away from him.”

“Go to hell, you son of a bitch.  Come back here again and I'll kill you.” The words of the exorcism began to flow from Sam’s lips, none the worse for months of disuse.  Sam had had enough of things hurting his brother, enough of wishing things were better when they could never be again, and enough of supernatural beings messing around in his brother's head.  He relished the discomfort on Crowley's face that quickly morphed to pain as Sam barreled towards the end of the exorcism.  The demon hissed in an eerily non-human way, eyes filming over a cloudy red, the color of curdled blood.

“Benedictus deus, gloria patri!” Sam finished triumphantly, a tiny smirk lifting one corner of his mouth for an instant as he watched the spell take hold.  Crowley didn't smoke out of his meat suit like demons usually did; instead, his body flickered with tiny burst of light.  Curls of black and red smoke rose in the center of the circle, twining restrictively around the demon's arms, legs, and torso. There was a moment where everything seemed to freeze, and Crowley stared at Sam with wide, furious eyes.

“You bastard!” he gasped, before there was a long rushing howl and his entire body seemed to fold in on itself and drop through the floor.  Crowley screamed in agony, a scream that fade rapidly as if he were falling a very great distance, and then the smoke drifted apart and the demon was gone.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any misuse of medical practices/items, as neither of us are doctors and the internet is only so helpful (trust us, it was worse in the first draft). Just so you guys know, big TW for suicide attempt right here. Sorry it wasn’t in the work tags earlier. Thanks for enduring the wait; this was a tough chapter to write.

**Chapter 18**

**“The IV and your hospital bed; this was no accident, it was a therapeutic chain of events”**

**~ _Camisado_ , Panic! at the Disco**

 

Gone.  That was good, Dean reminded himself, but didn’t quite believe it was.  With Crowley went his only chance at getting any part of his life back together.  And he still couldn’t move, could only stand there as Sam came over and gingerly gripped his arm.  

“You’re okay, he’s gone now.  I’ve got you.”  

But that wasn’t right.  Crowley was gone, but Dean wasn’t okay.  And Sam…  He wanted him to back off.  His touch hurt, the way he looked at him hurt.  He’d never seen Sam act so soft with him, not even in the times when he was dying.  It would get worse, he knew, as his soul unraveled.  Sam would only get gentler as Dean faded away, and it would tear both of them apart.  

That was their future, because as tempting as Crowley’s offer had sounded, Dean knew that he couldn’t go to him.  He’d wreak havoc with the energy he skimmed off of Dean’s soul—though what havoc, Dean didn’t know—and even if he could stop the freezing, Dean’s soul would still come undone.  Cas had said it was only a possibility, but Dean knew it was the truth, knew it deep inside him.  There were no lucky breaks.  There was only what he’d become.  As for what the demon had said… there was no reason to be upset by it.  His words were nothing new; Dean had said the same to himself before.  And none of it was _untrue_.  

Knowing this logically didn’t make him move any faster.  There was fear underneath his forced calm, fear and guilt and grief and hopelessness.  After a long time of Sam gently speaking to him, Dean could move again.  He stepped out of Sam’s grip and frowned, closing his eyes tight against his brother’s worried look.  “I’m fine, Sam.  Fine.”  

“We’re gonna figure out a way to fix this. Now that we know what’s happening, we can do something about it, right?”  Sam glanced at the angel for backup, but Cas was staring at the place Crowley had been standing and didn’t seem to hear him. “Cas?”

“Oh.”  Cas shook himself, focusing on Sam and Dean.  “Yes, of course we can.  I’m sorry, I was just... thinking.”  Even though the demon was gone, something about the situation didn’t sit well with him.  Crowley had been surprisingly knowledgeable about Dean’s soul, and he had seen the sigils on Dean’s ribs.  Demons weren’t supposed to be able to see those, but perhaps being King of Hell came with unexpected abilities.

“Thinking what?” Sam asked.  He couldn’t help but feel annoyed that Cas was spacing out when Dean was so clearly a wreck from dealing with Crowley, but he didn’t say anything about it, just gave Cas a pointed look.  

“About what Crowley said,” the fallen angel answered truthfully, pushing his suspicions away.  He still felt uneasy, but that was to be expected after any encounter with Crowley and he didn’t see any reason to tell Sam about it.  “Crowley said that he didn’t know why Dean freezes and blanks out when his soul releases energy, but I think I do.  Dean’s soul is producing energy to help itself heal, but the energy isn’t getting to where it needs to be because it’s blocked up somewhere.  In order to prevent further damage, the soul needs to dispel the energy from time to time.  There must be a way that we can fix that blockage.  Perhaps it would ease the strain on your soul, Dean, and allow it to heal.”

Wishful thinking.  As if they had a way to even access Dean’s soul, let alone fix something that was wrong with it.  But Dean just looked at Cas and nodded.  “Makes sense,” he said.  He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down, freezing briefly and then unfreezing.  “You think we can find a way to make it work?”  

“Yes,”  Sam interjected, determination clear on his face.  “There’s tons of lore out there on souls; we’ve just got to look in the right spot.  Now that we really know what’s wrong, we can fix it.”

Dean nodded again and tugged on one of his sleeves.  “Good.”  He took a deep breath and looked straight at Sam.  “Thanks for not giving up on me.”  After a moment, he glanced at Cas too, including the angel.  

“We won’t ever give up on you, Dean,” Cas murmured, and Sam nodded.  

After another few moments of unbearably awkward silence, Dean cleared his throat.  “I’m gonna go take a shower,” he announced.  He hesitated a moment, wanting to say that it might be a long one, but decided against it.  No need to draw more attention to himself.  So, with a final nod to the others, he went back to the bedroom to get a change of clothes, and then hurried into the bathroom.  Not that he really needed the clean clothes, but whatever.  

In the bathroom, he turned the water on hot and then stripped off his shirt, unbandaging his wrists as well.  He paused with his fingers on the button of his pants, but decided to just leave them on.  Then he got into the tub and sat under the scorching stream.  His jeans quickly soaked through and clung to his legs, weighing them down, and Dean leaned his head back against the wall, staring blankly into the spray.  If he was going to do this, he had to do it soon, before Sam and Cas came looking for him.

It was hard to dig the knife out of his pocket like this, and Dean wished he had thought to get it before he got into the tub.  Finally he had it in his hand, and he flipped up the blade, watching the way the water rolled down it.  Was he really going to do this?  He thought about everything Crowley had said, and what Cas had told him, and froze staring at the knife. Water ran into his eyes and he couldn’t blink it out for almost a minute. Fuck this.  He wasn’t going to wait and end up an empty husk.  Sam and Cas— he veered away from that line of thought.  They’d understand.

As soon as he could move again, Dean dug the tip of the knife into his wrist and dragged it all the way to his elbow.

 

After Dean went to shower, Cas brought the last of their things out to the car while Sam salted all the doors and windows. He was standing in the living room, wondering if he should mention his suspicions about Crowley to Sam after all, when he heard Dean call him.  Or, he thought he heard Dean call him.  It sounded strange, as though Dean's voice were coming down a long empty tunnel instead of the hallway and several doors between him and Cas.

_Cas?  I fucked up, I—  Please._

Cas froze and looked at Sam, but Sam didn’t seem to have heard anything at all.  Then he understood.  Dean was praying.  He hadn’t even known he was enough of an angel to hear prayers anymore.  But why would Dean—  Leaving Sam to finish the wards, Cas hurried to the bathroom.

“Dean?  Did you call me?”  

_I don’t want to die, Cas. ‘m sorry._

“Dean?”  Cas tried the door, but it was locked.  The water was still running in the shower, but he couldn’t hear any other sounds.  “Dean!”  he yelled, pounding on the door.

Hands grabbed Cas’s shoulders and pulled him back.  “What the hell is going on, Cas?” Sam demanded.  

“Dean did something.  I don’t know what, but the door is locked.”  Cas strained to hear any kind of movement from inside, but there was nothing.  “He was praying to me.”

Dean was praying?  Not good.  “Dean?” Sam called loudly, shouldering Cas out of the way.  He tried the door, but, as Cas had said, it was locked.  “You okay in there?”  There was no response, so Sam jiggled the handle again.  “Come on, man, open up.”  

_Can’t open it._

“He says he can’t open it,”  Cas told Sam, trying to keep his rising panic out of his voice.  “Why not, Dean?” he called.  “What did you do?”

“Move, Cas!”  Sam pushed the angel away from the door and threw himself at it.  The wood creaked, but held firm.  

_Just hurry._

Sam slammed against the door again.  The wood around the lock splintered, and the door gave another ominous creak.  Gritting his teeth, Sam hit it a third time and stumbled into the bathroom as the lock burst and the door flew open.  Cas followed right behind him.

“Dean, what—”  Sam pulled back the shower curtain.   “Dean!”

For a moment, Sam and Cas just stood there, staring at Dean with horrified expressions.  Then they were moving, Sam grabbing his shirt from off the the floor and Cas fumbling to shut off the spray.  Sam was shouting at Dean, but Dean couldn’t find the energy to answer.  He blinked once, and even though he wasn’t stuck it felt like it took him far too long to open his eyes again.  Sam was grinding the flannel into his left arm, the one with the really bad gouge on it, and it hurt.  Dean hadn’t been able to cut his other arm very well, which he supposed was a good thing since he’d been too chicken shit to go through with it anyway.  He shut his eyes again.  

“You still with me, Dean?” Sam said when Dean’s eyes closed for a long moment.  “Come on man, talk to me.”  He moved the shirt to look at Dean’s arm, and swore.  “God damnit, this probably needs stitches.”  Cas, who had disappeared briefly, returned with bandages.  Without a word, he sat on the edge of the tub beside Sam and reached for Dean’s right arm, which was still bleeding steadily into the tub.  

Dean was aware that there were now two people touching him, but he didn’t have the energy to be upset that one of them was Cas.  Besides, he’d called out to Cas in the first place.  Instead, he opened his eyes again to watch his brother use the end of the bandage to make a painfully tight tourniquet.  Belatedly he realized that Sam wanted him to say something.

“I’m sorry, I’m—” He shut his eyes again.  

“Dean,” Sam said, insistent, so Dean forced his eyes back open.  He glanced over from Sam to where Cas was silently trying to staunch the flow of blood from his other arm.  Then he looked down.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again.

“Where the hell did you even get a knife,” Sam muttered.  

“Glove compartment.  I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking telling me you’re sorry!”  Sam tugged harshly on the end of the bandage.  “We said we wouldn’t give up on you.  Didn’t realize we had to get you to make the same promise.”

There was nothing Dean could say to that, and his apology stuck in his throat.  “I’m tired,” he managed at last, closing his eyes again.  

“No, hey, come on.”  Sam shook Dean’s shoulder until he opened his eyes again.  “Stay awake, Dean, stay with me.  Cas, we’ve got to get him out of the tub.”  The angel nodded, tying off the end of the bandage on Dean’s other arm.  Dean let Sam take his shoulders and Cas grab his legs, and they hoisted him out of the bathtub.  Bloody water dripped off his pants, leaving little pink spots on the floor.

“Where—”  Cas asked, the first time he’d spoken since they’d found Dean, but Sam was already answering.

“Our bedroom.  And then you have to get the rest of the first aid kit from the car.”

Cas just nodded.  They got Dean into the room and then laid him on the floor, since he was still soaking wet.  Sam waited until Cas had left the room again, and then quickly stripped Dean’s pants and boxers off.  Pulling the comforter off his own bed, Sam wrapped it around Dean as well as he could without trapping his arms. Dean was shivering hard, eyes slitted and unfocused, and he wouldn’t respond when Sam said his name.  Despite the tourniquet, there were still dribbles of blood leaking from Dean’s arm and staining the blanket.

Cas was back a few moments later with the first aid kit, placing it on Sam’s bed and helping him move Dean up to his own bed without speaking.  As Sam started stitching Dean’s arm Cas vanished again, returning a few moments later with the comforters from the bunk beds in the other room.  When he got back, Dean was unconscious, but Sam was still stitching up Dean’s arm.  He didn’t look at Cas, but the fallen angel could see his jaw working.  

“He needs a hospital,” Sam said at last, “but if we take him there, he’s probably got a good ten minutes before Crowley finds him again.”  He tied off the stitches, then carefully loosened the tourniquet and started to bandage Dean’s arm.  “But if we keep him here, and he doesn’t make it…”  

“I think Dean has made it very clear that he would rather die than go with Crowley,”  Cas said quietly.  When Sam whirled around, furious, Cas just shrugged, his voice strangely flat.  “We just have to do all we can for him here.”

Sam choked down his anger and nodded stiffly, looking at Dean.  “Right.  We don’t have everything we need here.  So, I’ll just—  I’m gonna get some clothes on Dean, and then I’m going to… I dunno.  Rob a hospital.”  He looked at Cas.  “Can you watch him?”  

“Of course,”  Cas replied instantly, his tone clipped.  Sam raised an eyebrow at him, and he looked away.  Yes, he could watch Dean, no matter that he’d failed to do so earlier.  He should have known that Dean was too on edge from being told about the state of his soul, even before Crowley had arrived.  He had been too distracted by Crowley to see how fragile Dean was, but he should have seen this coming, stopped it, done _something_.  “I’ll let you get Dean dressed.”  Without another word, he stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.  

In a few minutes, Sam emerged from the bedroom.  “Grab yourself a chair or something,” he said to Cas, then waited until he did so.  “Sit with him.  Watch him.  Let me know if anything changes.  Don’t let him die.”  Sam looked at the floor.  “Right.  I’ll be back.”  And then he was gone.  

 

Cas spent the time until Sam got back at Dean’s bedside, watching the uncertain rise and fall of Dean’s chest under the blankets and wishing he could do something, even just reach out and take his hand.  It was hard to look at Dean’s face, which was already pale as a corpse’s.  It was even worse when he realized that he might never see Dean open his eyes again, or smile, or a million other things, even from a distance.  He couldn’t stop thinking that he should have been able to prevent this, and then wishing that he had enough power left for just this one thing. He even tried to use his Grace, but there was nothing.  Once again, he couldn’t save Dean.  

“Is he awake?”  

Even though Sam spoke softly, Cas still jumped.  He hadn't heard the hunter enter the cabin at all, too lost in his own thoughts.  Another wave of self-deprecation swept over him; that could have been a demon or some other threat, and he would have failed Dean yet again.  

“No,” Cas answered unnecessarily, since Sam could see Dean from where he was standing, “ I don’t think he’s gotten any worse either, though.  But it’s hard to tell.”

“Well, that’s something,” Sam muttered.  He placed a box full of various medical supplies on the floor at Dean’s bedside and pressed two fingers along the underside of Dean’s jaw to check his pulse.  It was very weak, but regular, and Sam sighed in relief.  “He’s got a steady pulse, so that’s something else.  I just wish he’d wake up.”  Sam rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder and shook it gently.  “Dean?  It’s time to get up.  Come on, man.”  But Dean didn’t wake, so Sam dropped his hand from his brother and sighed.  “We’ve got to clean these cuts better,” he said to Cas without looking at him.  “The last thing Dean needs is an infection on top of everything else.”  

“Do you want my help?”

Sam hesitated, plucking at the sheets with one hand and closed his eyes.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I think so.”  He looked at Cas, half pleading.  He couldn’t do this by himself, not with everything that had happened.

“All right.”  Cas got up from the bed and went over to stand next to Sam.  “What do you need me to do?”

Sam shrugged.  He sat on the edge of the bed and lifted Dean's right arm into his lap.  He didn’t think he could deal with looking at the left one again just yet, even after he’d left a line of black stitches up the wound.  Sam started to tug open the bandages, but at the first sight of split skin, his stomach clenched.

“Cas,” he started, then had to clear his throat. “Could you, um.  I can't.  I can't do this right now.”

Cas paused.  Could he?  Would Dean even want him to?  He didn’t like Cas touching him, and for good reason.  But… Sam wouldn’t ask for him to help with this unless was necessary.  And Dean _had_ asked him for help.  So Cas nodded and tugged his chair closer to the bedside, taking Dean’s arm from Sam and carefully unwrapping the bandages.  

He worked as gently and carefully as possible, not rushing or stalling.  The gashes looked horrible, but by some miracle Cas thought Dean might not have permanently damaged anything. Sam’s gaze was heavy on Cas the whole time, making the already strained minutes even more tense.  When Cas had rebandaged both of Dean’s arms, he took off his gloves and looked at Sam, but couldn’t think of anything to say.  Sam was almost as pale as Dean, and even though Cas had been the one working, it was Sam’s hands that shook.

When Sam saw Cas looking at him, he got up and went back to the box of medical equipment.  “I thought we should get an IV in him so he at least gets some fluids and stuff.”  He paused with an IV bag and some tubing in his hands.  “I can get this set up and you can…” His eyes skipped from Cas’s hands, which he held the gloves he’d worn, to the old bandage which he’d crumpled into a ball.  “Get this stuff cleaned up.  Or something.”  

Cas nodded.  “I’ll be right back,” he promised, picking up the bandage and leaving the room.  

After he was gone, Sam carefully put on a new pair of gloves and set up the IV bag.  Then he tied a tourniquet around Dean’s arm and used an alcohol wipe on the back of his hand.  He’d never done this before, but at least he’d been able to pull up a tutorial online.  So, he opened up the catheter and carefully inserted the needle into the back of Dean’s hand.  

He missed the vein.  Of course he missed.  That was okay.  He could try again.  When he missed a second time, he paused and took a deep breath.  The third time, the needle went in smoothly and hit the vein.  

Trying not to fumble now that he got the damn thing in, Sam carefully removed the needle and secured the catheter, then hooked up the IV tubing.  Once everything was taped down and seemed to be working, he took off his gloves and discarded them on the floor, then sat and laid his head in his hands.  

He didn’t even notice Cas standing in the doorway until he said, “Maybe you should try to get some sleep.”  

Sam blinked and looked away, grinding his palms into his eyes.  “You’ve been watching Dean all afternoon.  I should stay with him.”

“I can watch a little longer.  I still don’t need as much sleep as you do.”  That was a lie, but Sam didn’t seem to notice.  After another long pause, during which Sam stared at Dean and Cas tried not to, the hunter nodded.

“Only for a few hours though, Cas.  And you wake me up if anything changes.”

“Of course.”

“I’m staying in here.”

Cas nodded and meticulously began picking up the various packaging and gloves Sam had left on the floor.  As he worked, Sam stepped out of the room, presumably to get clothes to sleep in.  By the time he reappeared, Cas had cleaned everything up and was settled in the chair beside Dean.  Sam didn’t say anything, but he went to the other bed, grabbing the spare comforter that Cas had brought in from the other room.  They made brief eye contact, but still neither spoke. Sam closed his eyes, but it was a long time before he fell asleep.

 

Cas didn’t wake Sam after a few hours.  He knew Sam would be angry with him when he woke up, but then at least one of them would be well rested.  Besides, Cas couldn’t have slept if he wanted to.  He sat there, staring blankly at the wall over Dean’s head, trying not to to think about anything in particular.  Occasionally he would actually watch Dean, but it was hard to look at Dean’s unnaturally pale face.  

Sometime after midnight, Dean stirred. The room was bright when he opened his eyes, and he squinted them shut almost immediately, moaning softly as he became aware of the sharp pain in his wrists.  He was alive.  For some reason he thought he shouldn’t be.  Forcing his eyes open again, he found Cas sitting at his bedside, looking haggard and worn.   “Cas?”

“Dean!  Are you—” Cas stopped.  Clearly, he wasn’t all right.  “How do you feel?”  he asked instead.

Dean shrugged one shoulder and bit the inside of his cheek.  All of it—Crowley, the bathroom, the knife, the blood, Sam and Cas breaking down the door—was coming back to him, and any words he might have said stuck in his throat.  Instead of speaking, he stared at the tidy white bandages on his forearms and the IV someone had stuck in his hand.  

“I’ll wake Sam,”  Cas said, shifting in his chair.  Dean’s eyes widened, and he shook his head slightly.  Cas hesitated.  “You don’t want me to?”

“Let him sleep,” Dean said.  “I can’t—”  He fisted his hand in the blanket, then released it because it hurt too much.  

“He wanted me to wake him up if your condition improved.”  Cas reached out to touch Dean’s shoulder, then drew back.  He didn’t know what to say.

“I can’t talk to him right now, please, Cas.”  Dean covered his face with his hands, wincing when the bandage rubbed.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”  

“It’s— I’m glad you called me.” Cas said, just because he couldn’t sit silently.  

“I didn’t think it would work,” Dean said.  “But no one could hear me and I just…”  He tried to choke down his tears, but failed, so he scrubbed at his eyes.  “I really messed up, Cas.”  

“Yes, you did,”  Cas acknowledged.  “But the damage isn’t permanent.  None of it is.  Sam and I said we’d help you, and you will.  We need you to trust us, though.”

“I do trust you,” Dean said, then paused as he processed through what he just said.  Of course he trusted Sam, but he trusted Cas?  The words had come out so naturally, but now…  “I think,” he choked.  

Cas tried not to let his hurt show on his face.  “Well,”  he said as neutrally as he could.  “If you can’t trust me, at least trust Sam.  We’re going to help you.”

Dean couldn’t say anything.  He hadn’t meant to hurt Cas, but he didn’t know how to apologize, or even if he should.  Instead, he shifted onto his side so that he could face Cas and reached a hand out to him.  

Hesitantly, Cas took Dean’s hand in both of his.  He thought of the way Dean had looked when Sam had burst in on him, barely conscious and bleeding out.  The image made Cas shiver and close his eyes against it.  “I don’t want to lose you, Dean,”  he admitted softly.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered.  

“I know.  I am too.” They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Cas sighed.  “I need to wake Sam up. He’s been just as worried as I am.”

Dean tightened his fingers around Cas’s.  “What do I say to him?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know.”  Cas squeezed Dean’s fingers back.  “Promise you won’t do it again, if you can?”

“If I can?”

“If you can promise you won’t hurt yourself again and mean it,” Cas explained carefully.   _If Sam will believe you_ lay unspoken between them.  

“I won’t do this again,” Dean said slowly, looking down, “but…”  Now he raised his eyes to Cas, expression half pleading, half scared.  “It works.  The cutting.  I haven’t frozen, all this time we’ve been talking.”  

Cas couldn’t hold Dean’s gaze, instead staring at Dean’s hand in his own.  It was true; he had just been thinking how strange it was that Dean was able to talk with him this long.  But… “Well, if the pain is what helps ground you, there won’t be a need for any more cutting for a while.  You needed stitches on those wounds.”

Dean took a breath, forcing his voice steady.  “Figured.  They certainly hurt enough.”  

Cas held Dean’s hand for just a little longer, trying to wordlessly convey comfort.  Then he let go and turned to wake Sam.

“Sam?”  Cas had barely touched his shoulder before the hunter was awake, blinking up at him.  

“Cas?  Is Dean—”

“He’s awake,” Cas said simply, stepping out of the way as Sam scrambled to his feet.

For a moment, the brothers just looked at each other.  Dean was just opening his mouth to speak when Sam stepped to his bedside and crushed him in a hug, interrupting whatever he’d planned on saying.  So Dean stayed silent and just hugged back as best he could, trying to ignore the pain that flared in his arms as he did so.  It was too much, though, and he loosened his arms even as Sam held on.  

“I thought I lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, words muffled by Sam’s shoulder.  

“Just.  Don’t do that again.  Don’t ever do that again.”  Sam squeezed his brother even tighter.

Dean glanced up at Cas, then away.  “I won’t, Sam.  Promise.”

Cas read the discomfort on Dean’s face and in his body language, and hesitantly spoke.  “Sam?  I think you might be hurting his arms.”

Immediately, Sam released Dean from the hug, drawing back quickly enough to see the pain on Dean’s face.  He meant to apologize, but what came out was, “You should _tell me_ if it hurts.”  

“Of course it hurts,”  Dean muttered.  “It’s gonna hurt whether you’re hugging me or not.”  He kept his eyes down, though, so he wouldn’t have to see Sam’s expression. “Cas said I’ve got stitches.  And you gave me an IV?”

“We had to get fluids into you, and you weren’t exactly able to drink a glass of water.”  Sam stood suddenly.  “In fact, now that you’re awake you should eat something if you can.  And I’ll get you a water bottle.”

“Sam,” Dean said, catching Sam’s sleeve as he turned away.  Sam turned back, but didn’t say anything, just raised his eyebrows questioningly.  His expression was neutral, but it looked almost forced.  “Don’t you want to talk about this?”

Sam paused for a long moment.  The short answer was that yes, he really did.  But he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would end up shouting at his brother, letting out all his worry and confusion and anger, and Dean wasn’t ready for that.  Sam couldn’t do that to him.  “I do,”  he said finally, and he saw tension creep into Dean’s shoulders.  “But I can’t.  Not right now.”  Confusion replaced the nervousness on Dean’s face, and Sam struggled to be more articulate.  “I need some time.  And you need some time too, and I think we should just focus on getting you healthy again.  Okay?”

Dean shut his eyes.  “Yeah,” he whispered.  “Okay.”  He stayed that way until he heard Sam leave the room.  Only when his brother was gone did he start to cry.  

Cas had been standing quietly by Sam’s bed, but when he saw the tears rolling down Dean’s face, he instinctively moved to comfort him.  Dean jumped at Cas’s gentle touch on his shoulder, eyes flying open and breath hitching.  When he saw it was Cas, he turned his face away.

“I’ve gotta stop before he gets back,” Dean said, wiping his eyes with his hand.  If Sam walked in and saw Dean crying, he would probably feel obligated to talk about it, and Dean didn’t want that.  He just wished Sam would say something, anything.  

“You’re allowed to cry,” Cas told him softly.  He hesitated, not sure if Dean wanted him nearby, but finally settled in the chair beside the bed.  Better than looming over him.  

“Yeah, but…” Dean shook his head.  He knew he was allowed to cry.  But the old Dean wouldn’t.  Of course, the old Dean wouldn’t have done half the things he’d done in the past few days, especially trying to kill himself in a bathtub with a swiss army knife.  

Cas watched Dean sadly for a moment as he tried and failed to collect himself.  “It’s okay, Dean,” he said at last.  “You’ll get better.”

Dean shook his head again.  “Maybe,” he said.  Then he reached out and touched Cas’s shoulder before finding the angel’s hand again.  

Cas was glad Dean had taken his hand, because he wasn’t quite sure if he could have reached for Dean’s himself.  He ran his fingers soothingly over the back of the hunter’s hand, stopping just shy of the bandages that swathed his wrist.

Dean had just calmed enough to get his breathing steady and to stop crying by the time his brother came back in.  “You feeling hungry?” Sam said, setting a bowl of soup on the bedside table and opening and handing Dean a bottle of water.  He didn’t say anything about the fact that Dean and Cas were still holding hands—Dean hadn’t quite been able to give up that comfort even though Sam would see—, but he did frown at their joined hands.  

Dean shrugged and took the water.  His arms felt weak, though, so he reluctantly tugged his hand out of Cas’s so that he could use both hands to hold the bottle as he sipped.  He tried not to look at Sam, because the tears still felt dangerously near spilling over again.  Drinking water helped him calm down, though.  Eating the soup was difficult, since his arms seemed to hurt worse every time he lifted the spoon, but Dean did his best to hide it from Sam and Cas.  Like hell he was going to let them spoon feed him like a sick toddler.  When he didn’t think he could eat anymore, he dropped the spoon back in the bowl and let his arms fall limply to his sides.

“All done?”  Sam hadn’t spoken much while Dean was eating, and now he stood and collected the dishes.  “Why don’t you go back to sleep,”  he suggested, and Dean mustered up the energy to roll his eyes.  But there was no denying that Dean was worn out again, just from having a bowl of soup.

“Fine,” Dean said, scooting down in the bed and pulling the blanket higher over his shoulder.  He frowned when the IV tube restricted him from turning away from the others.  “Do I still need this?” he asked Sam.

Sam considered the question.  Dean wasn’t quite as pale now, and he had eaten most of the soup and drunk the entire water bottle.  “Probably not,”  he decided, glancing at Cas to see what he thought.  The angel was staring blankly at the floor, though, and didn’t seem to have registered the conversation.  There were dark circles under his eyes, and Sam realized that he was probably exhausted.

Cas was barely aware of Sam and Dean’s conversation, or the activity around him as Sam took care of the IV.  His relief that Dean had not only woken up but appeared to be stable had translated into a deep weariness that pervaded his whole body.

“Cas?”  

The fallen angel shook himself slightly and looked up, realizing that both Sam and Dean were watching him.  “What?  I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I said that you can sleep, if you want,”  Sam said.  “I’m going to stay awake for a little longer and just keep an eye on Dean.”

“Oh,”  Cas murmured.  “All right.”  He stood slowly and went into the hall, before realizing that he had stripped the covers from the other beds earlier.  Backtracking, he stopped in the doorway until Sam looked up at him.  “There are no other beds with blankets.  Would it be all right if I slept in here?”  Cas spoke to Sam, but it was Dean’s face that he watched for a reaction.

Dean noticed Cas’s glance.  “Yeah, Cas, it’s fine,” he said, giving the angel a small smile.  He hoped it didn’t look like a grimace.  Sam nodded too, and with that, Cas shuffled back into the room and crawled into the other bed, still fully clothed.  As Sam went to put the soup bowl into the kitchen sink, Dean mustered the courage to speak.  “Cas?”  

“Mm?”  Cas turned his head to meet Dean’s gaze, a flutter of apprehension rising in his chest.  “Yes?”

“Just…  Thanks.”  He meant to say something more, something about dealing with him when he was a crying mess, or really listening to him, or not blowing up at him, or not making him feel more like shit for all of this than he already did, but he couldn’t get the words out.  

Cas stared at Dean for just a little bit too long, trying to come up with something to say.  “Of course,”  he finally answered, sensing Dean’s growing discomfort.  

“Right,” Dean said.  “Well.  G’night.”  

“Good night, Dean.”  

By the time Sam came back in, both of them were already asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This used to contain information, but now it’s entirely composed of ridiculous incidental quotes from our editing process. We’ll put them at the end so they don’t bother anyone.

**Chapter 19**

“ **Come on, skinny love, just last the year.  Pour a little salt; we were never here.”**

 **~** **_Skinny Love_** **, Bon Iver**

 

Cas woke with a start. The lights were still on, but both Sam and Dean seemed to be asleep.  Sam was slumped in the chair, chin on his chest and breathing peacefully, but Dean was shifting restlessly under the sheets.  He cried out softly as Cas sat up, and Cas realized that the sound was what had woken him.

“Dean?” he said quietly.  Sam stirred in the chair, then resettled.  Cas briefly considered waking him, but decided against it. If it was absolutely necessary he would, but Dean had been extremely reluctant to talk to Sam earlier. Quietly, he rolled out of the bed and hurried to Dean’s side. The hunter’s face was pinched with fear and pain, and he was reaching towards Sam.  

“It’s all right, Dean.”  Hesitantly, Cas intercepted Dean’s searching hand and squeezed it.  Dean didn’t settle though, just turned his face away. Frowning, Cas looked deeper, examining Dean’s soul.  Usually the hunter should have been at his most peaceful while sleeping, but that wasn’t the case tonight.  Dean’s soul was in turmoil, and Cas thought that the half-healed fissures he’d left were growing wider, crumbling at the edges. With a shudder, Cas looked away. He and Sam were running out of time to fix Dean. Focusing on Dean’s physical self once more, Cas sat carefully on the edge of the bed and shook his shoulder.  “Dean?  Wake up.”

Dean’s eyes opened immediately and fixed on Castiel’s face.  He gave a muted cry and flinched away, shutting his eyes, before he remembered that Castiel was gone.  “Cas,” he said aloud.  “You scared me.”  He tried to keep his voice light, but he knew he was completely transparent.  

It broke Cas’s heart to see Dean so obviously trying and failing to hide his fear.  “I’m sorry.”  It felt like every other word out of his mouth was an apology, but there wasn’t much else he could say.  “You were having a nightmare.  I was going to wake Sam, but I know you didn’t…” Cas trailed off, uncertain.

“Know I didn’t what?” Dean said, clutching the edge of the blankets with both hands to try to steady their shaking.  All it did was send pain up his wrists, though, and he quickly had to let go.

“You were reluctant to talk to him before.  But I shouldn’t have assumed—”  Cas swallowed the rest of his sentence.  Dean was clearly distraught, and from his reaction on waking Cas could easily guess what he had been dreaming about.  “I’ll wake him.”  Dean made an abortive gesture to grab his arm, and Cas paused.  “You don’t want me to?”  

Dean took a breath and shook his head.  “I just—” he said, looking away.  “It’s hard to talk to Sam right now.”  

“Harder than talking to me?”  Cas asked, then instantly regretted it.  “No, nevermind, you don’t have to answer that.”  Clenching his teeth on another apology, he looked away.  

Dean watched the side of Cas’s face for a long moment, then studied his hands and the bandages on his forearms.  “I feel like I owe it to him.  To be okay.  And…”  He looked at Cas again, and then looked away.  

Cas stretched his lips into a brief smile, still not looking at Dean. “You don’t owe me anything.” He stood, not quite abruptly, and glanced at Dean.  “Since you’re awake, can I get you anything?  Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“Cas, stop,” Dean said.  “Just.  Stop.”  Cas obediently froze, watching Dean like he was waiting for a reprimand.  “And don’t look at me like that either.”  

Hesitantly, Cas glanced at Dean for permission and then sat back down on the edge of the bed.  “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“That makes two of us,” Dean said, and there was silence between them for a moment.  “Just…”  He didn’t mean to hurt Cas.  He thought of waking up to Castiel’s face, of watching it turn back to Cas’s.  Idiot, really, because their faces were identical.  But.  Also not.  “Back when you flew up to Maine?  The curse?  You know that…  I already had it.  When you got there.”  He watched Cas’s face.  “I was sick.  The nightmares and stuff.  You weren’t.  And—”  He wanted to press on his wrists even though he didn’t feel any risk of freezing, with them already so painful.  “I gave it to you, you know.  I didn’t know I had it, but…”  He slumped, letting out all of his breath.  It shouldn't have been that hard to say.  And Cas should have known it already.  He was smart enough to connect the dots.  In the quiet that followed, he chanced a glance back at Cas’s face.  

Despite the dangerous times he’d spent with the Winchesters, Cas had never actually been hit by a bus.  He imagined that this must be what it felt like, though, with the sharp ache under his sternum and the complete inability to draw breath.  He thought that he was keeping his face impassive, which was good, because he wasn’t even sure what he should be feeling right now and he didn’t want Dean to figure it out before he did.

Cas hadn’t thought much about how the entire situation had started, but he’d assumed that something he’d done had initially triggered the spell.  Dean’s words raised hazy memories, though, memories of Sam talking about the dreams and hypothesizing about causes. For a moment he was relieved that it wasn’t _all_ his fault, but then logic reasserted itself.  Of course it was still his fault.  Knowing where the spell had come from didn’t change anything he had done while under its sway. And it wasn’t as though Dean had known that he was infecting Cas with it.

Cas realized that he had been silent and unmoving for too long, and Dean was watching him with mounting anxiety.  “I… hadn’t realized that.  Thank you for telling me, but I don’t see how that changes anything.”  Realizing that his answer sounded cold,  he met Dean’s gaze and tried to smile reassuringly.  “It doesn’t absolve me of my guilt, after all.”

“You were sick,” Dean whispered, because he didn’t know how to do this anymore, didn’t know how to make the weight in Cas’s demeanor lift even a little bit, and couldn’t offer forgiveness for something he didn’t really forgive.  Even if he could, he doubted Cas would accept that forgiveness.  He took a deep breath and picked at his bandages, trying not to feel anything too strongly, but that wasn’t working.  He wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or not at his realization that Cas probably wouldn’t forgive himself even with Dean’s forgiveness.  Whatever it was he felt, it was heavy and suffocating and he didn’t want it.  He just wanted to go back to sleep.

Cas shrugged with one shoulder.  No matter how much they talked about it, it wouldn’t change his guilt.  The only thing he could do to begin to make up for it would be fixing Dean completely, and he had no idea how to do that.  Their conversation, however brief, was clearly weighing on Dean, who was looking pale.

“You should sleep, Dean.”

Dean bit his lip and nodded.  “Sleep doesn’t work so well for me these days,” he said softly.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”  Probably not, since it was nightmares about Castiel that were disturbing Dean’s sleep, but Cas had to offer.

“I… don’t know.”  Dean glanced away from Cas at his brother.  “I haven’t been sleeping alone.  I should probably get Sam.”  

“You haven’t… Are the nightmares that bad?”  Cas asked, startled.  “And does having Sam with you really help that much?”

Dean took a shaky breath.  “I—  Nights are hard,” he confessed.  The shaking that had finally settled since he had been talking to Cas was coming back against his will.  “When Sam’s with me, I’m… quieter.  And I stay asleep.”  

“All right.”  Cas shifted on the bed, but didn’t get up.  Despite his words, Dean didn’t seem very happy about the idea of sleeping next to his brother.  Cas hesitated, then asked softly, “If you’d like I could stay here.  Hold your hand, or something.  Only if you want to,”  he added hastily, when Dean looked at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t know if it’ll work,” Dean whispered, looking away.  

“Do you think it’s worth trying?”

Dean blinked and inhaled, holding his breath a moment.  Worth trying, yes, if it worked.  But if it didn’t…  He didn’t want something stupid like this to put more of a strain between them.   _What’s the worst thing that could happen?_ Dean asked himself, because really, he was being ridiculous.   _The worst thing…_  He closed his eyes and thought of the faded memories of the nightmares he was having before Cas woke him, Castiel’s face, the hyper-saturation of his blue eyes, his ruddy lips.  He imagined the dreams getting worse, the burning of Castiel’s touch, the way Dean’s mind folded back on itself until he was something small and lost.   _Worse_.  But Cas said his name, softly, and Dean opened his eyes, startled to find that they were damp.  The two of them just looked at each other for a long moment.  “I’m sorry,” Dean whispered.  It was a stupid mistake, asking himself what was the worst that can happen, when some of the worst things he could remember of that time happened in dreams.  

“It’s fine, Dean.” Cas reached out to put a reassuring hand on Dean’s arm, then stopped short and let it drop to the bed instead.  “We should wake Sam up, then. It’s important for you to rest and regain your strength.”

Dean just nodded mutely as Cas got up and gently shook Sam’s shoulder, waking him.  

“Cas?”  Sam said blearily, rubbing his eyes.  “Is Dean—”

“He was having a nightmare.  I woke him up, but he says he has trouble sleeping alone.”

“Oh.  Yeah.”  Sam straightened up, wincing.  “Shouldn’t have fallen asleep there,” he muttered.  Then his brain caught up with Cas’s words, and he leaned around the angel to give Dean a concerned look.  “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said.  “Just… tired.”  

“Yeah, okay.”  Sam hesitated, about to say more, but his courage failed him.  With a small sigh he stood, stretching his arms over his head.  “Scooch over, Dean.”

Dean shifted closer to the wall, making room for his brother to climb in next to him.  It was so much worse with Cas there too, and he half-hid his face behind the blanket, trying not to look like he was hiding.  He just wanted…  He didn’t know what he wanted.  But he didn’t want this.  As Sam settled, Dean knew he could feel him shaking.  

Cas turned away, acutely aware of how uncomfortable Dean was with the situation.  Crawling into the other bed, he lay on his back, then winced as the stitches scraped on the mattress.  He’d have to ask Sam to take them out; the cuts had healed quickly thanks to whatever vestiges of power he had left, and he didn’t need the sutures anymore. Rolling onto his stomach, he turned his face away from the two on the other bed and stared blankly at the wall.  

It took all of them a long time to fall back asleep.

 

By the time Cas woke up, Sam was already elsewhere in the cabin, and Dean was awake in bed.  He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to read secret messages in the wooden beams. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the bandages on one arm, but when he heard Cas shifting he quickly dropped his arms to his sides. Tilting his head to look at Cas, he gave a shaky smile.

“Morning.  You slept late.”

Cas frowned.  “Someone should have woken me.”  

Dean shrugged one shoulder.  “Sam is packing the car.  Again.  He wants to high-tail it out of here before Crowley comes back.  Hell, I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up yet.”  

“Maybe the exorcism is buying us some time,” Cas suggested, swinging his legs out of bed and getting to his feet.  He looked at Dean, a little surprised that he was still in bed.  “Can I get you anything?” he asked hesitantly.  Surely Dean was well enough to be moving around without help.  

“Nah,” Dean said. There was a beat of awkward silence.  “Why don’t you go help Sam?”

“All right,”  Cas agreed. He felt a little strange about leaving Dean alone in bed, but the man clearly wanted to be left alone.

“Good,” Dean said, then paused.  “I’d help, but…”  He gave Cas a half-rueful look and drew a line up one of his wrists with his finger.  “Don’t wanna burst a stitch.”

Cas nodded, trying to match Dean’s casual attitude.  “That’s probably for the best.”  He glanced at the window, then the rumpled bedcovers, trying to think of something else to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Finally, he settled for “I’ll go see if Sam wants any help.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and watched him go.  He didn’t follow.  Probably should have, but didn’t.  Easier to stay here than stand around watching everyone else do all the work.  He only sat there alone for a few moments, though, before slowly getting to his feet and pulling on the change of clothes Sam left out for him.  Didn’t want to hold them up any more once they were all ready to go.  

 

Sam and Cas were both waiting by the door when Dean came out of the room, but they didn’t immediately walk out.

“I was thinking, Dean,”  Sam said, trying to choose his words carefully.  “Crowley can find you now because of the stuff with your ribs.  If we go out there, he’s going to be able to track us.”

Dean just looked at him.  “And?” he said, voice flat.  “What am I supposed to do about it?”  He couldn’t figure out how he felt about the thought of Crowley finding him.  At least if he did, he’d finish what Dean had been unable to, one way or another.  

“I made one of the hex bags that Ruby taught us to make, remember?  Back with Anna, the ones that hide you from anything.  Hopefully it’ll work on Crowley too.”  Sam offered the pouch to his brother.

Dean took it slowly, frowning as he put it around his neck.  He still hated any mention of Ruby, but these had worked in the past.  Once it was on, he walked to the door.  “Any other last-minute additions?  And where the hell are we even going?”

“Away from here.  Crowley knows where I live, but maybe he doesn’t know about Cas’s place, so I figured we’d go there.  And once we’re safer we can work on getting you better.”

“Cas’s?” Dean said, tightening his hands so that his wrists ached.  It made sense, he knew it did.  And there was no real reason for him to feel this uncertain about it.  He had never even been to Cas’s apartment.  Though, back before this shit, back when everything was better than it had ever been and he had taught Cas to Skype him, Cas had carried his phone around the apartment to show Dean.  It seemed a lifetime ago, but Dean remembered laughing and commenting on it.   _Come on, Cas, no TV?  How am I gonna watch Dr. Sexy when I come over?;_ _Guess we’re gonna have to get real cozy in your bed, no, no, I’m not saying I mind, hey, it’s a good thing; Maybe when I’m done in Maine, maybe…  I mean, your place is already close to Sam, so… so…_  It hurt to think about.  “Do you mind?” he asked Cas, not because he wanted to ask permission, but because he didn’t want anyone to pay too close attention to his expression.  He was no good at hiding his feelings anymore.

“Of course not.”  Cas met Dean’s eyes, but shied away from the raw emotion that was all too obvious there.  “It’s a good plan.  Although I’m concerned that the hex bag may not work.”

“Why not?” Sam asked.

"It should be all right most of the time, but when Dean's soul resets itself the energy spike might be too much for the spell to hide."

"Well, what else are we supposed to do?" When Cas had no answer, Sam sighed. "I know it isn't perfect, but it's all we've got. We'll just have to hope for the best.”

No one had anything to say after that, so they all filed solemnly into the snow.  Dean let Sam take the driver’s seat because he knew he had no choice, and sat in silence as the others got in as well.  And then they were moving, leaving the cabin behind, and it was as if some strain Dean didn’t know he was suffering suddenly eased, just a little bit.  He’d never have to set eyes on that hell-hole again.  

"Pick a cassette, Dean, if you want," Sam suggested, glancing in the rearview to check on Cas.  "It’s a long drive, so feel free to take a nap."

“I don’t need more sleep,” Dean said, digging in his stash of music until he found some Led Zeppelin.  He pushed in the cassette.  It was only a few minutes into the tape that something occurred to him.  “Sam,” he said.  “What about all my junk in my apartment?  We can’t just keep paying rent on that.  And someone should tell the kids we’re leaving.”

"I'm gonna call Garth; he'll take care of the stuff in your apartment.  And no, I didn't tell the kids, but that’s a good idea.  You want to text them?"

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket but held it limply in his hand for a moment instead of turning it on.  So Garth was going to be in his space.  He wondered what Garth would think when he saw the mess in Dean’s apartment.  He wondered what Sam would tell him.  That Dean got hurt on the job?  Dean supposed he was going to have to come up some plausible lie to start telling people when they asked.  Or maybe just some snarky response.  Either way, what they’d hear was that Dean Winchester was brought to his knees and gave up hunting.  Except they wouldn’t see why, so they’d just say that he had a nervous breakdown and couldn’t handle the life.  Dean shouldn’t really mind what those dumbasses thought, but some part of him did.  He’d had a reputation.  His name held weight.  Now he couldn’t really show his face in the hunting community any longer.  They would be more sympathetic if he were dead.

He needed to stop.  This wasn’t helping.  He turned on the phone and found Clem’s number.   _Heading out.  Cabin’s clean_.  He couldn’t think of anything else he could bear to say over text.  

Her response was immediate.   _How are you?_

He hesitated for a moment, thinking of the bathtub and the knife and the few dozen stitches in his arms.   _Been better.  Also been worse, though, so that’s something._  Something shitty.  

After just enough of a pause that Dean started scrambling for something better to say, his phone buzzed again.   _That’s something, yeah.  Keep in touch?_

 _Yeah.  You too.  And let Sam know if a hunt turns up that you can’t handle.  He’ll help_ .  Because Dean couldn’t.  A moment later, though, he sent another text on its heels, because he couldn’t bear to leave it that way.  Not yet.   _Or me.  You can tell me._ Wishful thinking.

 _I will_ .  An instant response, followed a moment later by another.   _When you’re better, I’m gonna come visit, if you want?_

 _Sure.  Someday_.  Dean knew that didn’t sound very promising, but ‘when you’re better’ didn’t sound very promising either.  He put the phone back in his pocket and sighed.  

“Everything okay?”  Sam asked, concern evident in his voice, and Dean shot him a glare.

“Fine.  Just breathing over here, nothing to worry about.”  Sam rolled his eyes, but at least he left Dean alone after that, and Cas was so quiet in the back seat that Dean could almost pretend he wasn’t even there.  Almost.

An hour into the car ride, he got stuck.  Not from stress—that was still controlled by the gashes he put in his arms.  A black out.  And even though he normally didn’t notice it, this time he did.  Not in the moment, but afterward, and the feeling it left was in his body rather than his mind, like the pins and needles he got if he accidentally slept on his arm.  Only this was in all his extremities, a tingling just this side of painful. Not so bad that Dean would comment on it, though.  He’d felt worse.  When he could move again, the strange pain was the only thing that told him there had been any change.  He flexed and curled his fingers.  “Hey, did I just blank out?” he asked slowly.

"Yes," Cas answered, surprised. "Only for about thirty seconds though. Why, did you notice this time?" He leaned forward in the back seat, trying to get a better look at Dean’s face and noting the discomfort, hidden but present. "Was something different, Dean?"

"What's happening?" Sam asked, glancing at Dean.  He turned the music down and slowed the car, intending to pull over.

“No, Sam, I’m fine.  Keep driving,” Dean said exasperatedly.  He could feel Cas’s stare from the back seat, so he turned and glared at him.  “Really, Cas.”

Sam sped up again, but he kept glancing between Dean and Cas’s face in the rearview mirror.  For his part, Cas examined Dean again, trying to get a good look at his soul. The hunter's soul was confusing Cas, shining with an alarming intensity that didn't seem quite normal. Cas realized he had never gotten a good look at Dean just after one of his total-blankness episodes, and he didn't know if this was normal or not. "Dean, are you sure? Your soul appears… unusual."

“Stop worrying about my freaking soul, Cas, I’m—”  Then he was gone.

"Dean?" Cas asked, trying to stay calm. This happened, he knew, and the hunter couldn't hear him anyway.

"Cas, what's going on, is he okay?" Sam's worried voice carried from the driver's side, and Sam started slowing down again, drifting into the right lane so other cars could pass.

"Yes, I believe so, as well as he can be. His soul is resetting again. How long have these black-outs been lasting, typically?"  Cas kept his nervous gaze on Dean's soul, which was pulsing brighter and brighter within the hunter's unmoving body.  "Sam, you should keep driving. If Crowley can sense this, we don't want to be sitting still for him."

“I don't know, anywhere from a few seconds to minute or two? He's had some longer, though.”  Reluctantly Sam accelerated, recognizing the value in Cas’s advice.  Maybe, if they were moving, any demons that came after them would miss the car and land under the semi-truck behind them.  "You timing him?" he asked, seeing Cas nod in the mirror.  His attention was still focused on something slightly behind Dean, or perhaps inside him.  "You mentioned his soul?  What were you gonna say?”

"I can see what Crowley meant by Dean being a beacon," was Cas’s only response. The minutes ticked by, and the fallen angel grew steadily more worried. Dean's soul didn’t look like it was safely releasing pent-up energy; it looked painful and wrong.  After eleven and a half minutes, most of which consisted of Sam driving silently while Cas watched the sporadic expansion and contraction of energy around Dean's soul, Dean snapped back to alertness.

“—fine,” he choked, suddenly feeling the pain in his fingers sear into the rest of his body and he gasped.  He felt like he was burning up under his skin, claustrophobic inside, as if there wasn’t space for himself in his own body.  He curled forward in his seat and put his face on his knees.  “I just blacked out again, didn’t—”

Only three seconds this time, but the pain flushed from his mind whatever word he meant to use to finish his thought and he curled his hands into fists, trying not to scream.  He was only vaguely aware of being in the Impala, of Cas reaching for him over the seat back, of Sam’s slightly-raised voice as the two conversed.  Fire burned in confused ripples through his body, rendering him fleshless and empty of anything but the agony.  Then he was gone again.

"Dean!" Cas gasped in relief, but it was short-lived.  There was definitely something wrong with the hunter. Dean barely got out half a sentence, and he was definitely in pain as he curled in on himself.

"Cas, what's going on?" Sam asked frantically, almost swerving into the car next to him as he glanced over at his brother.

“I don't know; he's never been in pain from this before has he?”  Cas pulled Dean's shoulders back to see that the man had slipped away again.  Cas could see Dean's soul and the supernova of energy seething around it.  He frantically thought back to Crowley's explanation of what was happening to Dean.  His soul gave off energy, which was what made him black out, but never as painfully as it seemed to be doing now.  "Dean," he called uselessly.

And Dean was back and the pain was greater.  He couldn’t see and couldn’t hear but was aware that he was screaming.  He didn’t know if he was making any noise.  No, wait, he couldn’t be; he didn’t have vocal chords because he was completely bodiless now.

Dean's eyes half-focused again, enough to let Cas know that he was back, but he didn't look at anything and didn't move at all.  A soft whine slipped from his throat.

"Dean, talk to me," Cas begged, pulling on his shoulders until Dean was sitting up in the seat. As he did, he saw the hex bag where it was still hanging around Dean’s neck. Of course, the spell.  "Sam, I need you to be ready," Cas told him, speaking as fast as he could.  Dean was still making that low moaning sound, and Cas was afraid it was only because he wasn't in enough control of himself to scream.  "I have to take Dean's hex bag off, and any demons that are looking for us are going to find us."

"What?  Why?" Sam asked, swiftly passing a minivan as he floored the Impala.

"The hex bag is keeping Dean invisible by shrouding the energy of his soul," Cas explained hurriedly. "I was worried about it not being enough to hide his soul when it resets, but the magic is actually too strong.  Dean’s soul isn’t able to release the extra energy like it should, and it’s going to kill him if he can’t get rid of it.”

"Okay, then fucking do it, Cas!" Sam yelled, bracing himself against the steering wheel as though expecting an impact. Which there might very well be, if enough energy was trapped inside Dean’s body.  Cas leaned over the seat, lifting the hex bag over Dean’s head, his hand brushing against his face as it came completely off.

All at once, the fire that had consumed Dean rushed from him as if into a vacuum, dragging the pain with it.  It rushed from his fingers and toes through his body and out the left side of his face, leaving Dean empty.  His body relaxed and he stared at the ceiling, feeling tears start to drip down his cheeks.  He didn’t want to move in case this was a fantasy that would be shattered the moment he tried to sit up.  Staying still was a better guarantee that the pain wouldn’t return.

It took him a moment to reorient himself to his surroundings.  Above him was the roof of the Impala.  He was slumped sideways against his seat belt, Cas’s hand still just barely touching the side of his head.  “Cas?” he croaked.  “Sam? What the hell was that?”

Cas quickly pulled away from Dean, blinking. “Sorry,” he murmured automatically, but most of his attention was focused inwards.  His whole being felt lighter than it had in days, warm and glowing. He could hardly believe it, but as he carefully examined the sensation he became sure of it. Somehow, he had Grace again, only… it wasn't. Bemused, the fallen angel considered Dean's question. "The hex bag was preventing the energy your soul releases periodically from escaping," Cas finally answered slowly, still connecting the dots. “It was hurting you badly.”  And then when he had take the hex bag off…  Cas rubbed his fingertips, which were still tingling from where they had been touching Dean.  Somehow, the energy had passed through him, instead of dispersing.

“No shit it hurt,” Dean said, putting his head in his hands.  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“When the energy left you, I somehow absorbed it,”  Cas responded bluntly.  “It was converted to Grace.”

Dean dropped his hands from his face and half turned in his seat, but froze halfway through.  He froze.  As he hadn’t since he cut open his wrists.  But it was a good thing, right?  Because Cas had Grace, and the freezing was supposed to _protect_ him, right?  

Cas had Grace.  He was never going to unfreeze.  In his still body, his heart was beating wildly, and he wanted to do _something_ , anything but be trapped here like a sitting duck, because if Cas had Grace, he was just a breath away from _Castiel_.    

“What?  Like, _Grace_ Grace?” Sam swerved, narrowly missing a sedan in the left lane, as he tried to get a look at Cas over his shoulder.  What were they supposed to do?  Was Cas going to go berserk again?  Ignoring the furious honking of other drivers, Sam cut across to the shoulder and stopped the car.  Whatever was about to happen, he didn’t want to deal with it going ninety on the freeway.

“Well, it’s not quite real Grace. It’s synthesized, like the Grace from the spell. But it’s not the same,”  Cas hastily reassured Sam as the car jerked to a halt.  The hunter twisted in the seat, sliding himself so that his body was between Dean and Cas, and that was when Cas realized that Dean was frozen.  “No!” he cried, putting his hands up placatingly.  “It’s not like that.  This isn’t from the spell and it’s not… not tainted.  I only meant that…”  Cas trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe how it felt.  “That Grace was… wrong. This feels like Dean.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean, Cas?” Sam demanded.  He was hyper aware of the fact that his brother was still motionless beside him, and even though he didn’t _think_ Cas was about to turn on them, he was still making escape plans in his head, because he couldn’t take chances anymore, not when it came to Dean.  

“I don’t quite understand either, Sam.”  Cas put his hands down, shifting back against the door as much as he could.  “But I’m not… that.  If I was going to do something to Dean I would have done it already.”  Not the most reassuring logic, but Cas hoped Sam would see the reason in it.  Dean was still motionless, and Cas cursed himself for being so blunt.  He hadn’t thought that… well, he hadn’t thought at all.  “Dean,” he said softly, “You’re all right.  You’re safe.  I won’t hurt  you, or Sam.  I’m not… not Castiel.”

Dean wanted to believe him.  He really did, but his body wouldn’t release him and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared.  Even with Cas being so... _Cas_ , from the expressions on his face to the tone of his voice, and even to way he blundered bluntly into this explanation.  He couldn’t calm down, and the fact that he was stuck again after so many hours without it happening only made his anxiety worse.  

“Dean,” Sam said, carefully turning away from Cas to look fully at his brother.  Part of him wanted to keep watching Cas for any sign of possible lying, but he knew that the angel was telling the truth, and Sam acting hostilely toward Cas without reason would only make Dean more afraid.  So Sam gently touched his shoulder.  “It’s okay.  No one’s gonna hurt—”

"There you are." A man suddenly appeared in the backseat with Cas, eyes black and malevolent.  “Been looking all over for you, Dean.  The king wants to see you." The demon reached over the seat-back towards Dean, but Cas intercepted him.

"No!" he yelled, grabbing the demon’s shoulder and jerking him back.  The man snarled at him, trying to push Cas away with his power, but Cas brushed the assault off.  Without thinking, he reached for his Grace and pressed a hand to the demon’s forehead, searing him out of existence in a flash of white light.  A moment later the empty corpse of the man who’d been possessed slumped to the floor of the car.   

It all happened before Sam could do more than push Dean down in the front seat, out of harm’s way.  He was still reaching for a knife when he saw that Cas had taken care of the threat.  “Shit,” Sam said.  “Do you think there are more of them?”

“There probably are, but they’ll be more wary now.”  Cas mentally assessed his condition.  It seemed as though the Grace Dean had given him was finite, and smiting the demon had used almost all of it.  He relayed that knowledge to Sam, adding, “I think I have enough left to fix the warding on Dean’s ribs, though.”

Sam glanced at his brother, who was still stuck.  It had been quite a while already.  Gently, Sam grabbed his shoulders and pulled him upright again.  Then he looked at Cas and hesitated.  He knew they needed to get under the radar again, asap, but…  He looked back at his brother and gently shook his shoulder, not that that would help.  “Dean, c’mon man.  We could use your input here.”  

But Dean couldn’t move.  He had felt the expulsion of Grace that smited the demon, and the knowledge that he was completely unable to defend himself wasn’t helping matters at all.  And the thought of Cas using Grace on him…  He didn’t know if he’d be able to move again anytime soon.  

“Sam, I don’t think—”

“He’s not gonna unfreeze, I know.”  Sam shifted uneasily, trying to watch everywhere at once.  “You might have to just fix his ribs while he’s like this so we can get out of here.”

Cas stared at Sam, disbelieving.  “I’m not going to do anything to Dean unless he agrees to it.”

“Look, Cas, we can’t have demons popping up every hundred feet!  And we can’t have Crowley watching our every move!  That’s just going to make things more dangerous for all of us, _especially_ Dean.”  Sam could tell from Cas’s expression that he wasn’t convinced.  He took a breath.  “Think of it this way,” he said, voice softer now.  “This is potentially a life or death situation, and Dean obviously can’t make a decision for himself right now.  If he was in a hospital and was unresponsive, guess who would make decisions for him.   _Me_ .  All right?  He’s _my_ responsibility because he’s my _brother_.  Now get over here and fix his ribs before someone else tries to attack him.”

Cas didn’t move.  “I’m not going to use Grace on him while he’s like that.  We’ll figure it out.  If you give me the demon knife and then drive, we could probably make it to somewhere we can set up better defenses.  Maybe the demons won’t even come after us right now, if they think I’m fully charged again.”

Sam banged his hand against the back of the seat.  “Cas, when did you having Grace ever stop Crowley?”

For several seconds that they didn’t have to spare, Cas stared at Dean, hoping for some sign that the hunter was about to miraculously regain movement.  Then, carefully, he slid across the seat and leaned forward, so that he could see Dean’s face.  “Dean, you can still pray, right? Tell me what you want me to do.”

Dean had forgotten he could pray to Cas, and the sudden reminder that he _did_ have a way of communicating almost rendered him mute.  He’d already been yelling at Sam in his head, not real anger, because a big part of him knew that Sam was right about needing him warded as soon as possible, but now he didn’t know what to say.  He knew he should say yes, but…  He couldn’t get rid of his doubt, and he wasn’t even sure that he _should_ get rid of it.  And so, when he did finally pray to Cas, feeling Sam’s eyes on him the whole time he was silence, all he said was, _I don’t know._

“Cas?”  Sam prompted.  “We need to do this now.”

Ignoring Sam, Cas  focused on Dean.  “If you let me fix your ribs,” he offered hesitantly, “Would it make you feel safer around me?”

The easy answer was yes, it would.  But that relied on Dean mustering enough trust to say Cas could in the first place.  And then there was the awful chance that Cas would do _something_ to his ribs, but not what he promised he would.  So, even though he knew that he’d probably hurt Cas with his words, he said, _How will I know if you actually fix them?_

“Well, the demons wouldn’t be able to find us anymore.”  Cas had been expecting Dean’s suspicion, so it was easier to hide how much the words hurt.  “And I suppose at some point you and Sam could get x-rays and compare.” A ridiculous suggestion, in the midst of everything that was happening, but since it was honestly the only way Dean could be _sure_...

Dean hesitated.   _Okay._   _Do it._

“Thank you, Dean.  It’ll be okay.” Cas reached over the seat and pressed his palm to the center of Dean’s chest, right over his frantic heartbeat.  Gathering the little Grace he had left, he scoured his name from Dean’s ribs and replaced the sigils that should have been there in the space of an instant.  Then he drew back, breathing heavily.  A sharp migraine was developing behind his right eye, and Cas squinted slightly against the too-bright glare of the sun outside.  “It’s done.  We need to get moving, though, because Crowley will still know where we last were.”

“What about the dead guy?” Sam asked, glancing pointedly at the empty meat suit slumped against the door.

“Unless you’d like to find a way to drag the body into the woods in the middle of the afternoon, I guess we’re taking him with us,”  Cas snapped.  Sam raised his eyebrows, and Cas sighed.  “I’m sorry; I just have a headache.  You should drive.”

“I didn’t think angels got headaches,” Sam remarked as he shifted into gear and started the car moving again.  “And I think it would be a good idea to get rid of the body before we get to your place.  We can get off the highway and find a spot to leave it once we put some distance between us and here.”  He glanced at his brother, but he still wasn’t moving.  

“I’m not technically an angel,”  Cas growled, pressing his hand over his eye to block out the light.  That helped a little, but his head was still pounding.  “Not technically anything.  And that was the last of the Grace.  Dean?  You’re okay, see?  Nothing happened.”

No more Grace?  It was enough for Dean to move again, but he immediately took his left wrist in his hand and dug his thumb into it for a little bit of insurance.  He could feel the stitches strain, and thought he maybe popped one.  He didn’t care.  He didn’t want to freeze again.  Ever, if possible.  “Yeah,” he said, turning a little to give Cas an awkward half-smile.  

Cas managed a small smile in return, but it faded quickly. “Do you feel all right, Dean?  I’m not sure what else that energy did to you.”

Dean kept his thumb pressed against his wrist as he considered.  “I don’t know,” he said at last.  “I feel…”  He was hyper aware of Sam and Cas’s attention on him, and he wished that they didn't always have to be so intense.  How did he feel?  He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for.  Mostly he was just upset that he’d frozen again.  And that he was completely useless when it came to demons.  Which made him completely useless when it came to just about everything he’d devoted his life to.  “I don’t know,” he repeated.  What he really wanted to do was find somewhere quiet and dark and safe and just curl up next to Sam in silence.  

Sam and Cas exchanged a look in the rearview mirror.  “Okay,” Sam said.  “Just let us know if you feel any different than before.”  

Dean shrugged.  “Yeah, okay,” he said. No one spoke for the next several minutes, as Sam made it to the next exit and turned blindly down several roads, searching for the least populated place he could find.  Luckily they were still in Maine, so long empty stretches of road weren’t hard to come by.  

“All right.”  Sam broke the silence as he pulled the car onto the shoulder.  “Let’s get rid of the body quickly and then get back onto the road.  We should take a different route, in case Crowley has people looking out for us.”

“Do you want me to do it?”  Cas asked, unclipping his seatbelt.

Sam hesitated.  “Do you, um, know _how_ to get rid of a body, Cas?”

Cas tilted his head to one side, giving Sam his best confused look, and Sam was shaking his head before Cas even started talking.  “I just drag him far enough into the woods that he can’t be seen from the road and then put some branches over him, right?  Is there more?”

“Is there more, he says,” Dean muttered, then turned in his seat.  “ _Seriously_ , Cas, have you learned absolutely nothing from me and Sam the past three years?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could burn a body in this much snow and cold,” Cas muttered, hurt.

“Okay,”  Sam cut in, before the conversation could escalate to further levels of ridiculous.  “You know what, it’s fine, I’ll do it.  If you two are okay with just waiting in the car?”  He added as an afterthought, glancing at Dean.

“Yes, we’re fine, just _go_ ,” Dean said, and Sam went.  Once he slammed the doors behind himself and the corpse, there was a long moment of silence.  

Dean turned on the music before Cas could think of anything to say, and the fallen angel winced as the guitar riffs amplified his already piercing headache,  “Could you turn it down, please?” he finally asked.  

“Why?” Dean demanded.  “You got something to say?”

“No.  But I do have a very bad headache.”  Cas leaned against the window, pressing his forehead to the cool glass.

Dean left the music on loud for a few moments longer.  So he was spiteful.  Sue him.  But he turned it down, hesitated, then turned it all the way off.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, and leaned forward, putting his head and arms on the dash.  At least Sam had left the engine running so that it didn’t get cold in the car.  He was quiet for a long moment, then said, “Is talking gonna hurt your head?”

“Not unless we’re shouting at each other,”  Cas answered wryly.  “Is there anything you want to talk about?  Other than the fact that I’m apparently very bad at hiding bodies?”

Dean hesitated.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I was just…”  He didn’t want to say that it was his own inability to hunt that upset him, not Cas’s uncertainty about what to do.  

“It’s fine, Dean.  I’m aware that I’m not very good at certain aspects of hunting.”  Cas snorted, fogging the window up.  “Plenty of technical knowledge, but not so much practical experience.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get it.  There’s enough evil out there.  And someone…”  He paused, rubbed his eyes.  “Someone’s gotta pick up the slack.”  They were both quiet for a long moment, until Dean said, “What happens when we get to your place?”

“I suppose… you and Sam should stay until we figure out how to fix your soul.  Or until we can be sure Crowley’s not going to be targeting you, which is basically the same thing.”  Cas lifted his face from the window and shifted in the seat so that he was facing Dean. “But if you don’t want to stay that long, it’s fine.  My landlady might even have a room you could stay in, if you don’t want to stay with me.”

Dean stared at his hands.  “I’ll be okay staying with you.”  

“It’s small,” Cas said.  

Dean shrugged.  

“Dean,”  Cas began, then stopped abruptly as a jolt of Grace poured into him.  Instantly his headache vanished, and he sat up straight, staring at Dean.  

When Cas moved, Dean turned to look at him, a little startled by his change in demeanour.  “What?”

“Did you just…”  Cas trailed off.  Clearly Dean hadn’t frozen, but his soul must have given off energy because this Grace was clearly from Dean, like the last Grace had been.  But why had the energy gone to Cas, when he wasn’t even touching Dean?  It didn’t make sense.

“Did I just _what_?  And dude, stop looking at me like that!”  

“Clearly you didn’t,”  Cas murmured, half to himself.  “But...”  Suddenly Crowley’s words came back to him.   _When your soul resets, I skim off the energy from afar_.   This must have been what he meant.  Only somehow, by accident, Cas had done the same thing.

“Can you _please_ just tell me what’s going on?”

“Do you remember what Crowley was saying, about how to handle the energy your soul was letting off?”  Dean scowled, which Cas took to mean that he did.  “He mentioned a way that he could siphon it off from a distance, where you wouldn’t even know it was happening.  I’m not sure how, but when your soul reset and I was touching you, something similar happened.  You should have frozen just now, but you didn’t. And…”  Cas hesitated.

“And?”  Dean asked, gripping his wrist tightly.  He knew what Cas was about to say.  He struggled to take deep, calming breaths, and to not think about how it was just him and Cas in the car, and Sam was outside somewhere and too far away anyway.  He got stuck for a split second, then met Cas’s eyes.  “I gave you more Grace, didn’t I?”  Cas gave a small nod, and no amount of pain was going to keep Dean mobile, not when Sam wasn’t here.  

“Dean,” Cas said gently.  “Dean, I’m not going to hurt you.  It’s okay.  Do you want me to get Sam?”  

He wanted to say yes, because he _needed_ Sam, desperately, but he didn’t want to.  He was supposed to be trying to get better, right?  And that meant he had to try to deal himself.   _No,_ he prayed to Cas.

“It was very little,”  Cas offered, as if that was supposed to make Dean feel any better.  “Barely enough to get rid of my headache.  And now you can turn the music back on, right?”

 _I don’t know.  I don’t know.  I_ —  He wished he could see Cas better, but where he sat, he could only just see him in his peripheral vision.   _Tell me I’m gonna be okay_.  He didn’t mean for Cas to hear, but he knew as soon as he thought it that it was really a prayer.  

‘You’re going to be okay,”  Cas repeated, trying to put all the confidence he had into the words.  “I’m just going to stay right here, and then Sam is going to come back and complain about how cold it is outside, and you’ll probably make a joke about it, and then we’re going to get back on the road, and everything is going to be okay.”

 _Okay.  Okay._ And then Dean could move, and he squeezed his wrist for a little stability, turning a little so that he was facing more in Cas’s direction.  He couldn’t meet his eyes, though.

‘See?”  Cas said, relieved that Dean was moving again.  “You’re okay.”

Dean shrugged.  “Kind of.”

“Well, you’re better.  And we seem to have found at least a partial solution to your problem, since you don’t lose time anymore.”

Dean didn’t answer, but he didn’t get stuck again either.  A few minutes later, Cas caught sight of Sam stumping back through the snow towards them.

“Took you long enough,”  Dean remarked as Sam dropped into the driver’s seat with a huff.

“Well, I had to take care of the body and then cover my tracks so it wasn’t obvious that someone had walked way out there.”  Sam glanced back at Cas.  “How was it in the nice warm car?”

“Thrilling,” said Dean.  “We drank eggnog.  Cas recited poetry.” Dean glanced at Cas and gave him a shaky smile.  

“Cute.”  Sam rolled his eyes and started the car.  “Anyone else hungry?  Or is that just me, because I had to drag a dead guy a quarter of a mile through the snow?”

“Can we _please_ put some miles between us and the last place a demon turned up before we start traveling on your stomach?”  Not to mention that Dean wasn’t hungry.  

“Does it look like there’s even a place to stop right now anyway?”  Sam gestured at the woods around them as they pulled back onto the road.  “I just figured I’d ask so I could start looking when we hit civilization in however long.”

“Yeah, fine,” Dean said.  “If you’re hungry, we can stop.”

  
And they did, at a tiny burger joint in New Hampshire, when Sam detoured on some side roads to get away from 95, which was pretty much a straight shot down through Maine.  Dean actually managed to eat this time, and he was absurdly proud of himself for not freezing up as he listened to Cas explain the Grace situation to Sam.  Then they were on the road again.  Somewhere around the border with Massachusetts, Dean fell asleep, but it was short-lived.  Nightmares, bloody and filled with Castiel.  He wished he could sleep away the rest of the trip, but Sam was driving and he didn’t want to have the dreams again, so he just curled his arms around himself and watched the bare trees trees go past.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam is only here because they need a mom.  
> Walking the edge of mush, like skirting a swamp. Poor swampbaby.  
> “I don’t like words that start with ‘C’ very much.” “...Like your name?” “ Maybe I’m possessive.”  
> What was I writing that one time that made you so upset? I want to reread that. :D


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap: When last we left our fractured little Team Free Will, the unexpected and unwelcome appearance of Crowley had rattled all of them, even if the king of Hell did offer some insight into Dean’s condition. The encounter pushed Dean’s already fragile mental state past the breaking point, and he tried to kill himself, but at the last second he called for help and Sam and Cas managed to bring him back from the edge. After only a few days recovery, and afraid of Crowley following, they used a hex bag to hide Dean’s soul (since Castiel removed the enochian) and hit the road. The hex bag prevented the energy that was leaking from Dean’s soul from getting out, which had the adverse effect of straining his damaged soul. When Cas removed the hex bag, the energy transferred to him, and, lo and behold, became Grace. We last heard from them when they were in the car and headed south, all in various states of unease for various reasons...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh. Guess what, we’re not dead! And we do read all the comments and see all the kudos and we have not given up!! Rereading your comments, and :3 we are so glad you all like it??? ‘Specially CuriousOh, who just last week still had faith we would update, and Sarius, who was so moved by this and afraid we’d left it that read it all and commented twice?? I moved to a different state last year, and at that point even our glacial pace slowed to nothing. Only recently have Cody and I been like... we have to keep going. Thank you for keeping us going. I want to say it’s winding down, but… well. Rest assured, there is an end ahead somewhere!!!

**Chapter 20**

“But now I've got to crawl, to get anywhere at all. I'm not as strong as I thought.” 

~ _ Nothing Gets Crossed Out _ , Bright Eye

 

It was a long drive, and by the time they pulled up to Cas’s apartment building, Dean was exhausted.  Sam parked on the street, and the three of them slowly gathered Sam’s duffle and the few bags Sam had salvaged from Dean’s place, shuffling carefully over the ice on the sidewalks.  They followed Cas up the stairs to his apartment

Cas halted when they reached his door. "Um, we have a slight problem." Sam raised an eyebrow at him, and Cas fidgeted. "I flew out of my apartment when I left, so... I don’t have the keys."

"Really, Cas?" Sam nudged the fallen angel out of the way and reached in his pocket for his lock-picks. He stuck one in the door but was suddenly interrupted by a shrill voice from down the hallway.

"You get those out of that door right this instant, young man! You’ll ruin the tumblers and I just had them all replaced!" Cas turned to see his landlady, Mrs. Nydzik, storming down the hall towards them, hair in curlers and slippers flapping against the floor. Sam jerked upright, guilt and confusion clear on his face, but the old woman ignored him and went straight to Cas. "Cas, there you are, I've been so worried, you just up and vanished without a word and I thought to myself, where's that lovely young man gone off to, it's not like him to just disappear like that!" Her advance, much like the flow of words, didn’t slow, and she held her arms out expectantly.

Cas managed to cast a single reassuring glance over his shoulder at Sam and Dean before Mrs. Nydzik reached them and folded Cas into a surprisingly strong hug.  Then she pulled away and examined him through her thick glasses.

"Look at you, what happened to that dashing coat you used to wear? I loved that coat, reminded me of my second husband." She tugged disgustedly at Cas’s tee-shirt. "Nine Inch Nails? Hah! They wouldn't know music if it hit them in the face!" She patted Cas’s cheek gently. "If you're having trouble getting money for good clothes, dear, just let me know, we can work something out with the rent. I hate to see you like this." She turned bright eyes on the Winchesters, who were both standing awkwardly behind Cas.

"Who are your friends now? Ah, wait, this one — "   She grabbed Dean's chin and pulled his face down so she could look at him more closely. "Ooh, look at those eyes, and that strong jaw, you must be Dean." She released his face and held out a hand. Dean made no move to take it, but she didn’t seem bothered.  "Pleasure to meet you, dear.  I'm the landlady, Mrs. Nydzik.  Heard all about you from Cas here; he's a sweetheart." She beamed up at the two of them. "So glad you finally brought him to visit, Cas.  So you must be Dean's brother, Sam."

She bustled right past Cas and Dean to prod Sam in the stomach with a finger. He let out a huff of air and doubled over, and Mrs. Nydzik gave him the same careful once-over she had Dean.  "You're a big boy, aren't you?   All muscle, like my son.  He was a lumberjack, you know, just as strong as an ox.  Still, you look like you could give him a run for his money. You keep your picks in your pockets while you’re here though, all right? It looks bad to the neighbors.  I was just on my way out with the keys, but Anton was sleeping on my slippers and I couldn’t get him to move."

She pulled out a huge ring of keys, flipped speedily through them until she found the right one, then unlocked the door in a flurry of movement.  "There you are, dears.  Are you sure you all wouldn’t like to come over for a late-night tea? The cats have missed you, Cas.  Boris and Natasha have been almost inconsolable."

"I think we’re all a little tired right now," Cas managed, since it didn’t seem like Sam or Dean quite knew how to respond. "We’ve been driving all afternoon. Perhaps another time."

"Oh, yes, yes of course. Go on, get your rest, I'll be right down the hall if you need anything."  She stood on her toes to kiss Cas on the cheek, then gave the brothers a warm smile. "Pleasure to meet you both, dears. You  _ must  _ come over soon so that we can talk. Goodnight!"  With that, she bustled off down the hallway, waved cheerily at them when she reached her own door, then puttered inside and closed it with a thump.

After a moment of silence, Sam finally said, "Well, she seems… lovely."

"She’s a little much to get used to, I know." Cas herded them both into his apartment and shut the door behind them, locking it securely once more.

“So the crazy cat lady thinks we’re dating?” Dean grumbled.  “You talked to her about me?  Seriously, Cas?” 

"I was lonely, and Mrs. Nydzik is very nice once you get to know her.  Besides, at the time, we were..." Cas trailed off, staring at the floor. Dean probably would have laughed if he had seen Cas’s face the first time his landlady had demanded to know if he had “a nice young lady somewhere”.  She hadn’t seemed at all bothered once he finally confessed about Dean, merely switched pronouns and continued grilling him about his “sweetheart”.  And Dean would have been downright embarrassed if he had known how Cas had gushed to Mrs. Nydzik over a pot of tea and three cats about how happy he was that Dean liked him back.  

There was nothing Dean could say to that.  He just ducked his head and shifted closer to Sam.  Yeah.  They had been together.  But not anymore, and he didn’t need some stranger acting like they were when they couldn’t be.  “Someone should probably tell her we broke up,”  he finally murmured.  Even though it was too simple to just say they broke up, like the situation was something that happened to people every day.  Something that people recovered from.

Cas swallowed.  “I’ll... let her know,” he managed to say in an almost normal tone.  Turning away from Dean, he took a few steps further into the apartment and glanced around self-consciously.  There wasn't much to look at. A small table in the small kitchen, a second-hand sofa that Mrs. Nydzik had insisted she didn’t need because it reminded her of her third husband. The cabinets were mostly empty, as prior to this Cas had still seen eating as recreation rather than necessity. In the bedroom there was a twin bed and a nightstand, both barely used.

“Hey, Cas,”  Sam asked suddenly, startling the former angel out of his thoughts.  “How did your landlady know that we needed the apartment key?”

“I strongly suspect that she’s slightly psychic, although I’ve never tested her abilities.”

Dean crossed his arms and frowned.  

“Right…” Sam said slowly.  “That’s.  Yeah, why not?  Weirder things have happened.”  Shaking his head, Sam dropped the bag he was holding and sat at the kitchen table.  “So. We should probably figure out an actual plan now.”

“What actual plan,” Dean demanded flatly.

“The plan to get your soul back together,” Sam said,.  

“Oh.”  As if that was going to happen.  Dean walked past Sam and flopped on the couch, staring blankly at the old television Cas had placed on a small table against the wall.  He looked back at the angel.  “You got a TV,” he said, a little surprised.  

“I did.”  Cas hovered in the entrance to the living room, unsure if he should stay with Sam or try to share the couch with Dean.  “I thought maybe I would try to keep up with some shows.”

“Shows?” 

Cas shrugged.  “I wanted to see what was so special about  _ Doctor Sexy _ .”

Dean flinched.  “Yeah?” he said, forcing his voice light.  “What did you think?”  He heard Sam let out a sigh from where he sat in the kitchen, but Dean didn’t want to talk about his soul, didn’t want to talk about the fact that Cas had Grace again, didn’t want to talk about letting Cas try to patch him up.  He didn’t think he could deal.  This, it hurt, but…  He wasn’t just making conversation.  He didn’t know what he was doing, but it wasn’t trivial.  If it were, his chest wouldn’t be hurting like it was.  

“It… has witty banter.”  Cas tried to smile, like he would have if they’d had this conversation before.  “And attractive casting. The plot could use some work, though.”

Dean’s mouth twitched into a half smile.  “Come on, man, don’t diss my show.  You should know that you—” He swallowed around the lump in his throat.  “You watch  _ Game of Thrones  _  for the plot.  You watch  _ Doctor Sexy _ because it’s awesome.”  

Sam snorted.  “Don’t listen to him, Cas.  Nobody watches that for the plot.”

Cas frowned contemplatively. “What do they watch it for, then?”

“Sex and violence.”  As soon as the words were out of his mouth Sam wanted to take them back, but it was too late.  None of them looked at each other, and Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.  “In other news,” he said, “I might have an idea about where to start looking to fix Dean’s soul.”

Dean shook his head and gripped his left forearm.  He didn’t want to hear Sam’s theory, because he knew it was useless and he didn’t want to pretend to be hopeful about any of this anymore.  

“What is it?”  Cas asked, when it was obvious Dean wasn’t going to speak. He could respect that Dean might not want to deal with this right now, but that wasn’t going to stop him and Sam from trying to find a solution as soon as possible.

“Have you ever heard of reiki?”  Sam joined them in the living room, laptop cradled familiarly in his arms.  “And chakras and stuff?  It’s all about aligning the body’s energy.  It might all be made up, but maybe it’s true.  If we can get someone who practices to take a look at your… your energy field or whatever, then maybe—”

“Oh come on, Sam, don’t give me this  _ Naruto _ crap.” 

“We have to try  _ something _ , Dean!”  Sam snapped.  “I don’t know why you’re so dead set against trying to put yourself back together, but you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not dead set against putting myself back together.  Do you think I  _ want _ to be like this?  I just know better than to get my hopes up for your pipe dreams, okay?  I’m being realistic.”  Dean didn’t really remember getting up, but he was on his feet and glaring at his brother, couch abandoned.  

“You’re being fatalistic,” Sam corrected, scowling right back.  “We have to at least try.”

Dean held Sam’s gaze for a moment, then turned to face Cas.  “Tell him it’s not gonna work.”

Cas hesitated, searching Dean’s face for some clue about what he was thinking, but saw only hard lines and pain.  Cas didn’t want to add to that pain, but he also didn’t want to lie.  “It might help.  With part of the problem.  If the practitioner truly can manipulate Dean’s energy field.”

“What part of the problem?  The part where I was releasing energy and it was making me freeze up?  Because I thought you already solved that by turning it into Grace.”

“And you’re all right with that? With me having Grace?  Because maybe reiki could actually fix you instead of just redirecting the energy and then you wouldn’t have to be—”  Cas stopped talking abruptly.  There was no good way for that sentence to end.  Be a battery?  Be so afraid of me? “It would be one step closer to fixing your soul,”  he finished quietly.

“And who the hell do you guys think is gonna be able to actually fix it?  If Cas couldn’t do it when he had Grace, what’s the next step up in healing force from ‘angel’?   _ God? _  Look, we’ve got  _ nothing _ , okay?  So just… just stop.”  He rubbed his forehead with the flat of his hand and shook his head.  

Cas’s heart ached as he watched Dean slowly drop back down to the sofa. Dean had a point; there wasn’t much out there that was going to be strong enough to piece his soul back together, certainly not whatever small changes a reiki specialist could manage.  Another jolt of energy flowed into Cas from Dean, and it was like a revelation.

“It’s not that I couldn’t do it when I had Grace,”  he said quietly.  Both Sam and Dean looked at him sharply, and he hesitated before continuing.  “I had a finite amount, which was apparently not enough.”

Neither of them said anything for a second.  “Do you mean—” Sam said, then looked wildly at Dean.  “If Dean keeps feeding you Grace, do you really think that—”

“I don’t know anything for sure,” Cas said carefully, trying to gauge Dean’s reaction to the idea.  “And I don’t know if it’s a good idea to let Dean’s soul continue to give off energy like this.  It might be safer to try to find an alternative method.”  Safer to not let Cas near Dean’s soul again.

Dean closed his hand around his wrist and pressed his fingers against the cut.  He didn’t think he could do it, let Cas in again.  Even to fix him.  

“Dean,” Sam said, coming over to him.  “This is… This is  _ huge _ .  Could be huge,” he corrected himself, glancing at Cas.  

“I  _ know _ ,” Dean said loudly.   

“But you don’t have to do it this way.”  Cas glared at Sam when the hunter started to protest.  “He doesn’t, Sam.”

“If it’s getting worse, we can’t just let it!”  Sam glanced back and forth between Cas, who looked troubled, and Dean, who wasn’t making eye contact with either of them. “Not when it's killing him!”

“We can.”  Cas shut his eyes so he wouldn’t have to meet Sam’s outraged gaze.  “If— if Dean doesn’t want me to fix him, I’m not going to.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something, then apparently thought better of it.  He put his computer down on the table, harder than he normally would have, and turned his back on them.  “I’m gonna take a walk,” he said shortly, then went out into the hall, slamming the door shut behind him.  

Dean flinched, less at the sound than at Sam’s departure.  He didn’t look at Cas, just tightened his hand on his wrist and stared at the floor.  

Cas lifted his gaze from the floor to watch Sam leave, then slowly let out a breath.  He looked at Dean, who was still fixated on the carpet, and swallowed. After a few seconds of silence, Cas spoke.  “He just wants you to be okay.”

“Yeah, well I’m not,” Dean said softly.  “And I’m not gonna be.”

“If we could heal the damage in your soul, though, it would go a long way towards getting you better.”  Cas started to ask if he could sit down, remembered that this was his apartment and he didn’t need permission, and settled on the far end of the sofa from where Dean was still hunched defensively.  

Dean gave Cas a sad look and shook his head.  He didn’t say anything—didn’t have anything  _ to _ say—, and just set about unlacing his shoes and tossing them toward the corner of the room, listening to the solid thunk they made as they hit the floor.  Then he drew his feet onto the couch and leaned forward on his knees, hiding his face in the crook of his arm.  The apartment was quiet, with no sound of neighbors talking or cooking or laughing or doing anything else behind the walls.  He could hear Cas breathing.

Cas just watched Dean for a little bit, allowing the hunter his space and allowing his own back to hunch with sorrow, since no one was looking.  A few minutes later, when Sam hadn’t returned and the silence was too much to take, he spoke.  “Dean…”

”I’m fine,” Dean said shortly, dropping his legs off the couch.  “Fine.”  He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, then looked at Cas.  He almost wanted to thank him for taking his side instead of Sam’s, but thought better of it.  

Cas straightened up and tried to give Dean a smile.  “Is there anything I can do for you? Even if it’s just…”  Cas trailed off, unsure of what exactly he was offering.  “Anything?”

Dean was quiet for a long moment.  “It’s gonna come back, you know,” he said.  Cas just looked at him.  “The freezing,” he clarified, staring at his bandaged wrists, thinking of the black thread holding his flesh together, and the constant ache that held his head together.  Or soul.  Whatever it was that freaked out whenever he froze.  “Once I heal…”  He flexed his wrists slightly, even though he didn’t need to to stay unfrozen right now.  There was enough pain without that, but he was used to seeking out pain to stabilize him for difficult conversations now.  It would freak Sam out, the fact that it felt commonplace to Dean already.  

“You’re going to let yourself heal, then?”  Cas looked down at his own hands, studying the patchwork of all-too-fragile veins visible through the skin.  

Dean shrugged.  “I know I should.”  He watched Cas carefully, taking in the slump of his shoulders and the way he had his hands before him, fingers slightly curved, like he was holding the imprint of something lost.  “And if I do, and I start freezing again, I—”  He paused and looked away from Cas.  “I don’t wanna go back to not being able to hold a conversation with you.”  

“I don’t want you to hurt just to talk to me.”  Cas let out a tiny, frail laugh.  “My conversation skills aren’t worth it.”

Dean’s lips quirked into a half smile.  “I know you don’t want me to hurt,” he said, and as he spoke, he knew it was true.  “I thought.  You remember back at the cabin?”  Dean didn’t like to remember anything that happened back at the cabin.  “I thought that maybe…”  He hated this.  And he didn’t know how to communicate what he wanted without crawling into a hole or feeling terrified out of his mind.  So he huffed out a sharp sigh, then looked beseechingly at Cas.  “Come closer?”  

Cas had tensed when Dean first spoke, but when he realized what the hunter was talking about, he forced himself to relax.  Meeting Dean’s gaze, seeing the uncertainty mixed with resolve there, Cas wanted to wrap his arms around Dean and hold him close, to give him the comfort he so clearly needed.  But that wasn’t Cas’s place, not anymore, and so he moved at Dean’s speed and closed the space between them until their knees were just barely touching.

Dean shifted closer so that their shoulders pressed together.  He could feel how tense Cas was even just through their small points of contact.  Maybe he should have waited until Sam was back in the apartment before trying to be close to Cas again.  He had Grace back.  He couldn’t be trusted.  And Dean, he wanted to do this, or at least he thought he did, but maybe it was just more self-destruction.  Break it apart instead of fixing it.  Though the two might be one and the same, in his case.  He was that much of a fuckup, after all.  He closed his eyes and breathed.  Sam would be back soon.  He wouldn’t leave them alone for too long.  He was probably just pacing the hallway outside, only a scream away.  Dean was safe.  

Safe, or maybe playing with fire after getting third degree burns over his whole body.  

Dean opened his eyes and looked at Cas.  Last time, he he had been the one moving, letting Cas sit still under his fingers.  A matter of security, so that he wouldn’t freeze and be helpless.  But this time, he wouldn’t freeze.  Or at least, he didn’t think he would.  “Touch me,” he said, voice hoarse.  

“What?”  Cas’s hands clenched, and because he was staring he saw the minute, reflexive flinch that Dean tried to hide.  His first thought was to stand up, to bring back the space that had been present between them since he’d tried and failed to put Dean back together.  He didn’t  _ want _ to— but that wasn’t true.  He did want to, because he still loved Dean fiercely, even though he didn’t have that right, and he missed the gentle touches they’d briefly shared before he destroyed their future, and he missed even the casual contact that they’d shared before that.  Until Dean asked for it, Cas hadn’t realized how painful something as simple as  _ not _ touching Dean could be. But the last time he had touched Dean he had broken him.  

“I…”  Cas hesitated, watching Dean with wide eyes.  Wasn’t this was he had hoped for?  Permission? The seconds were stretching past, and Cas was afraid that if he didn’t act now, this chance that was more than he should have would stretch away with them.  

As gently as he could, Cas reached across the endless few inches between them and laid his hand on top of Dean’s.

Dean took a breath and exhaled slowly.  It wasn’t even that bad.  Cas looked more afraid than Dean felt.  “I’m okay,” he told him, voice low and sure.  More sure than he actually was, but…  Dean put his free hand over Cas’s for a moment, so that the angel’s palm was pressed between his hands, and then released him.  

“You’re okay,” Cas repeated, half in agreement and half questioning.  His other hand hovered in the air for a moment, uncertain, before coming to rest on Dean’s shoulder.  High on Dean’s shoulder, to avoid the scar, but not too close to his neck because that was a vulnerable spot.  Really, there were no safe places.  Nowhere Cas could put his hands now where he hadn’t then, and he hoped Dean didn’t remember it all as clearly as he did. The hunter was still, but in a natural way, by choice rather than fear.  Any moment now that would change, and Cas was seized by an urgent desire to make the most of this in case it was the only time it would be allowed.

“I’m so sorry,”  he whispered, an apology for everything that had led to this point and everything that would follow.  Warily, ready to pull back, he lifted his hand from Dean’s shoulder to his cheek. There was stubble under his fingers; Dean would ordinarily have shaved before it was more than a five o’clock shadow, but ordinary wasn’t cutting it these days.

Dean ignored the flash of anxiety in his chest and turned his face into Cas’s touch, letting his eyes drop closed.  “I know.”  

Instinctively, Cas cupped Dean’s face between his hands.   _ Too much _ , his mind warned, but he did it anyway.  Sweeping his thumbs across Dean’s cheekbones, he tried to memorize the shape.  The feel.  The warmth.  

Dean’s heart was pounding, and he didn’t want to show that he was afraid.  He tried to match Cas’s breathing, slow himself down, until he realized that Cas wasn’t much calmer than he was.  When he opened his eyes, Dean could see a painful sort of desperation on Cas’s face, so intrinsically different than any expression Castiel could be capable of.   _ Just Cas _ , he reminded himself.  At this point, he should touch him back, he knew he should, but instead he gripped his left wrist in his hand, and the pain spiked through him, sharp and grounding.   _ Too close _ .  He was going to freeze.  He wasn’t going to freeze.  He wanted to pull away.  He didn’t want to.  

Cas saw the mounting panic in Dean’s gaze, and even though the hunter wasn’t frozen, and he hadn’t asked for Cas to stop, the fallen angel let his hands drop back to his own knees. It was hard, because Cas  _ needed  _ to comfort Dean, but his touch was no longer a comfort, and he knew that. For another moment Cas met Dean’s eyes, trying to gauge if he’d made things better or worse, but he was too afraid of what else he might see there so he looked away.

When Cas let go of his face and looked away from him, Dean exhaled shakily, letting some of the tension in him bleed out.  He released his wrist and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to evaluate himself.  His chest ached.  When he opened his eyes again, Cas was staring firmly at the floor.  Dean watched the muscle in his jaw work and wished he knew what he was thinking.  He didn’t want to ask, though.  Instead, he very carefully leaned against Cas’s solid shoulder. 

Dean’s weight against Cas’s side was as incredible as it was unexpected.  Trying not to move his torso, in case Dean would think Cas didn’t want this, Cas craned his head to get a look at Dean’s face.  His eyes were open, but even as Cas tried to make eye contact, to silently ask if this was okay, he blinked and then deliberately closed them. Slowly, barely daring to hope, Cas shifted so that he was sitting back against the sofa.  Dean moved with him, and Cas ended up with one arm behind Dean’s back, the hunter’s head resting almost against his chest.  An impossible scenario, and yet here was Dean, trusting.  Or, if not trusting, at least trying. Cas leaned his head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about anything at all.

“Guys?”  Cas twitched violently in shock, which in turn caused Dean to bolt upright and away from him.  Sam had apparently reentered the apartment silently, and now he stood in the entrance to the room, looking at them.  “I’m sorry I got mad, Dean.  I just… needed a few minutes to think.”  His expression said quite clearly that he had seen them sitting together and was trying to figure out how to react to it.

Dean nodded sharply.  “It’s fine.”  He glanced at Cas nervously, not sure if the angel was as uncertain about Sam’s reaction as he was.  

Cas stared uncomfortably at Sam for a moment, quashing the urge to ask permission to be sitting with Dean.  Not only would it upset Dean, but it wasn’t even a logical impulse.  Sam didn’t say anything, but when Dean looked away from him he raised one eyebrow fractionally in question.

“Dean and I are trying to build our trust again,”  Cas explained as neutrally as possible.  He saw Dean stiffen, but had no way to explain that he thought Sam would appreciate the truth more than excuses. 

“Oh.  Okay.”  Sam looked suspicious.  “You build trust a lot when I’m not around?”

“Sam, when the hell are you not around?” Dean demanded.

Sam rolled his eyes.  “Whatever, Dean.  Excuse me for being worried about your health and safety.”

“My health and safety?” Dean just shook his head at his brother.  “Really?  Is this how you’re playing it?”  He looked at Cas, then back at Sam.  The angel looked pale and guilty again.  It was getting to be a common expression on him.

“Playing what?”  Sam had his obstinate, “I’m not doing anything wrong, you are” face on, and it made Dean want to punch him. Or maybe cry.  Which brought Dean right back around to the anger.

“Oh come on,” Dean snapped.  “Why the hell are you acting like this isn’t what you wanted?  The second I got my head back together you were telling me to make up with him!”

“No, I was telling you that we couldn’t just leave him in a house we were about to burn down!”  Sam was hyper aware of the fact that they were arguing about Cas, who was sitting literally inches away from Dean, as if he wasn’t there.  But the angel didn’t seem to be making any attempt to participate and defend himself.  “I said you shouldn’t abandon him totally, not that you should…”  he gestured vaguely at the two of them. 

“That I should  _ what _ ?”

“He’s worried about you,”  Cas interrupted quietly, and both Winchesters turned to stare at him.  “He doesn’t want you to get even more hurt if I… go bad again.  It’s a reasonable response, objectively.”  And Cas was trying very hard to be objective.  

“It’s not like  _ I  _ want to get hurt,” Dean said.  “Seriously, Sam, what the hell do you even want from me?”

“I want you to be okay, Dean.”  Sam shrugged uncomfortably.  For some reason, hearing Cas say out loud what Sam had been thinking made him feel like an asshole.  Which it really shouldn’t.  “You took care of me for years and kept me safe.  I just want to return the favor.”

“Yeah, okay, but you’ve been telling me Cas is safe, and now you’re acting like he’s not and—”  Dean glanced at Cas.  It felt strange to talk about him like he wasn’t here.  “You’re giving me whiplash, man.”

Sam glanced at Cas too, and hesitated before starting to speak.  Once again, Cas beat him to it.

“Before, I was basically human.  Now that I have Grace, I’m a threat again.”  Cas met Sam’s gaze wearily, but there was a spark of anger in his eyes.  “This is, of course, putting aside the millennia prior to being cursed that I had Grace and was as safe as any angel can reasonably claim to be.” A moment of silence followed his words, and Cas swallowed hard.  His words to Sam were sharp, but they rang true, and Cas felt a tiny bit of the weight on his shoulders slough off.  Dean was trying to trust Cas again, but his efforts would be futile if Cas couldn’t trust himself.  “The Grace wasn’t the problem,”  Cas continued softly, half trying to convince himself.  “The spell was.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment.  “I get that, Cas,” Sam said slowly.  “Really I do.  I know it was the spell.  But that doesn’t mean that this—” he repeated the same vague gesture from before “—is gonna work.”

“It doesn’t mean it won’t.  In time.  Maybe.”  Cas wished he sounded more sure of himself.  “I don’t think you doubting Dean is going to help him, though.”

“I’m not doubting  _ Dean _ , I’m doubting…”  Sam paused and glanced from Cas to Dean.  He didn’t know what to say.  That it wasn’t healthy, jumping back into things so soon?  He didn’t want to hurt them.  “I just think you should give each other a little more space to heal.”

No one said anything for a moment, and Cas gave Dean a glance, as if hoping Dean would say something.  Dean took a deep breath and let it out.  He was tired of fighting, and when he spoke his voice was slow and soft.  “I don’t think running away from this is gonna work.  So I’m trying to face it.”  He looked at his brother and resisted the urge to press his wrist.  

Trying to face it.  That was a quick change.  Sam frowned and tried to squash the feeling that Dean was trying to make them think he was magically fine and forget he’d just tried to kill himself in a bathtub.   _ At least he’s trying to make some sort of change.  That means he has to have some kind of hope that he didn’t before _ .  Or at least, Sam really hoped that was the case, but a large part of him wanted to separate the two of them, at least until he knew Dean was somewhat stable.  

Dean narrowed his eyes.  “Don’t give me that look.”

“I’m not giving you a look, Dean, come on,”  Sam responded automatically.  Then he grimaced.  He’d definitely been giving Dean a look.  “Fine, so where do we go from here, then?”

Dean shrugged.  “To bed, probably.”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “That’s not—”

“I know that’s not what you meant,”  Dean snapped. “But I’m tired of this damn conversation and I just—”  his voice wavered a little— “want to get some sleep.”

After watching Dean silently for a moment, Sam nodded.  “Yeah, okay.  That’s probably a good idea.”  He looked around Cas’s sparse apartment.  “Though I’m not sure how we’re going to sleep three people in this place.”

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door to the apartment.  Frowning, Cas went to look through the peephole, then relaxed slightly and swung open the door to admit Mrs. Nydzik. The old woman was staggering under the weight of a gigantic army green duffle bag, and Cas hurried to take it from her.

“Thank you, dear,”  she wheezed, straightening up with a series of cracks.  “I know you’re used to living alone and there are three of you, so I thought you all might appreciate an extra bed. This was my first husband's cot when he was in the military, I'm sure he won’t mind my letting you borrow it. He’s been dead twenty years, after all, and we barely said a word to each other for the twenty years before that.”  Before Cas could even thank her, Mrs. Nydzik gave him a cheery wink and backed out of the apartment.  “Sleep well, dears!”  The door clicked shut behind her.

Dean just stared at the closed door.  “That lady’s gonna fry my nerves.”  

“You do get used to her,”  Cas reassured him, hefting the bag over his shoulder and returning to the living room. 

“I don’t like psychics,” Dean insisted.

“You liked Pam fine,” Sam said as Cas opened the bag and began pulling out its contents.  “But I don’t know if I’d ever get used to her, no matter how long we stay here.  I swear, Cas, you find the strangest people.” Cas frowned and Sam held up his hands quickly. "Don’t get me wrong, she's a sweetheart! But definitely strange."

“Are any of us  _ not  _ strange?”  Cas asked enigmatically, and it was so deadpan that Sam couldn’t help but snort out a laugh.

“How long  _ are _ we staying here?” Dean asked suddenly, in an entirely different tone.  He wasn’t looking at either of them, but not in a way that made Sam think he was actively avoiding anyone’s gaze.

Cas paused. “As long as you want,”  he said, hesitating just a moment longer than he meant to.  “As long as you need to.  Whether that’s until you’re completely healed, or just until we find a temporary fix, or… after.”  He concentrated on assembling the cot, and didn’t look up to meet either of their gazes.

Dean dipped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes.  “Okay.”  He glanced at his brother.  “You’re not gonna decide to bring me somewhere else right away, right?”

Sam blinked.  “You do get a say in the matter, Dean.  I’m not gonna kidnap you and stuff you in a van.” It was the moments like this that made Sam worry, where Dean slipped and Sam remembered again how damaged his brother really was.  

Dean just shrugged.  “Just wanted to know if I should bother trying to get settled.”

Cas saved Sam from answering by snapping the last piece of the cot into place and straightening up.  “Where would you like to sleep, Dean?”

Dean looked from the cot to the couch.  “Couch,” he said.  The cot looked like a death trap.

Cas frowned at him.  “The bed would be more comfortable for you.”

“I’m not gonna steal your bed, Cas,” Dean said.  “And I like couches fine anyways.”

“God knows we’ve slept on enough of them,” Sam agreed.  “I’ll take the cot. You can have your own bed, Cas.”

“Are you sure?” Cas frowned down at the dubiously constructed cot.  “I don’t think this is big enough for you, Sam.”

“We’re all tall.  I’ll be fine.  Stop worrying so much,” Sam said.  

Cas shrugged.  “All right.  I think I have some spare blankets in the bedroom.”

 

By the time Sam turned the lights out, Dean had already been curled up on the sofa for a good forty minutes while Sam pawed through bags for things like toothbrushes and Cas tried to offer them the little stock of food that was in his kitchen; peanut butter and grape jelly featured prominently, but he also had an unopened box of microwave popcorn, which Sam was happy to eat, but Dean declined.  All he wanted to do was sleep.  He wasn’t even going to change out of his clothes until Sam had shoved a tee shirt and a pair of flannel pants in his face and flatly ordered him to get into them.  So he did.  And now everyone was in bed and he was piled under the blankets that Cas kept offering, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.  His ears were filled with the gentle creak of the cot under Sam’s weight, and shuffling noises from Cas’s bedroom — did Cas sleep now that he had some Grace again?  Dean didn’t know — , and even his own damn breathing.  Too loud.  Too alive.  He wanted to be locked away in some empty room, with no doors or windows for things to get in by, with no monsters and no people to find him.  He wanted to be alone, away from all of it, just him and some vast nothingness, so all of this could fall away and there would be nothing to worry about anymore.

He was afraid of the dark.  He was afraid to sleep.  He was afraid of this tiny apartment, with its hollow walls.  Had Cas warded it well enough?  Dean hadn’t thought to check, and now it was raking at him.  Sam had bolted the door, a human security.  

There was no bolt between Dean and Cas.

Which was fine.  It was fine.  Dean was fine.  And if he would just sleep, he wouldn’t have to keep worrying like this.  Or…

“Sam?” he whispered, and hated himself for it.  There was no response.  Dean lay there in total silence for another ten seconds, listening to his brother’s breathing.  Sam shifted, and Dean’s heart leapt.  “Sam?”  he mumbled again, unable to keep from sounding hopeful.  But his brother only stretched in his sleep, feet dangling over the end of the cot.  Dean couldn’t wake him. 

Sliding to his feet, Dean padded in the dark to the door to Cas’s bedroom and paused there, curling his toes against the floor and putting his hand on the doorframe.  The door was open, just a few inches.  Cas was silent and motionless inside the room.  Maybe he was asleep too.  Dean reached out and tentatively touched the door with just his fingertips so that it crept open another few inches.  

 

Cas had gotten as far as holding his pajama pants in one hand when he realized that lying in bed would be pointless. His regenerated Grace had rendered sleeping unnecessary, even if he could have calmed his mind enough to drift off.  He briefly contemplated offering the bed Sam again, but decided that it wouldn’t be worth reminding them about his returning power.  It certainly wouldn’t help Dean sleep.

Instead, he shut out the lights and then climbed quietly out the window to the fire escape.  It groaned gently under him as he settled into his familiar seat.  The outdoor light on this part of the building had long since burned out, and when Cas leaned against the railing he could see the stars glimmering faintly overhead.  

He lost track of time quickly, but Orion had moved several degrees across the sky when he heard movement inside the room.  Turning, Cas saw Dean standing at the foot of the bed, the faint light from outside illuminating the confusion and growing fear on his face.

“I’m out here, Dean,”  Cas called softly, pulling his legs back through the railing and turning to face the half-closed window.

Dean startled slightly when Cas spoke, but composed himself.  Moving uncertainly across the room, he paused by the window and looked out at Cas’s dark face.  “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not bothering me.”  Cas tilted his head questioningly.  “Is everything all right?”

Dean shrugged one shoulder to his ear and let it drop.  “Can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”  Cas smiled softly.  “You’re welcome to use the bed, if you want. I can go into the apartment.”

Dean just shook his head.  He watched Cas quietly for a moment through the window, putting his hand on the ledge and feeling the February chill bite at his fingers.  “You warded this place?” he asked suddenly, looking out into the night.  

“When I moved in.”  Cas glanced up through the lattice of rusty metal above him to where the stars still glittered.  “They’re under the paint, burned into the back of the plaster.  I had Grace to spare then and it seemed like the easiest way.”

Dean leaned his head against the wall.  “You’re sure it’s safe?”

“As sure as I can be.  As safe as I can make it.” Cas took in Dean’s closed off posture and frowned. “Nothing from outside is going to harm you tonight, Dean. I’ll also be keeping watch.”

Dean was quiet for a long moment, eyes on the sky.  “Aren’t you cold?” he asked at last.  

“Not particularly.”  Cas half-shrugged. “If you are, I can certainly close the window completely.”

Dean shook his head.  A car drove by on the empty street below, and he watched it go by.  Cas was looking at him, so he very carefully didn’t return the gaze.  He waited until Cas looked away, and then pushed the window all the way up, put his knee on the windowsill, and pulled himself through.  The metal of the fire escape was painful on his feet, so he stepped gingerly, quickly, until he was near Cas.  Then he sat, and the cold from the metal radiated instantly through his pajama bottoms to his skin.  

“Dean!”  Cas blinked in shock as Dean settled next to him.  The man wasn’t even wearing socks.  “You’re going to get sick, you’re barely dressed!”

“I’m gonna be fine,” Dean said.  His feet were already cold, though, and he kept his arms folded tight against his body.  “People in Maine jump into freaking lakes in the dead of winter for the hell of it.  Sitting out here for a few minutes isn’t going to do anything to me.”

“We’re not in Maine,”  Cas pointed out. Dean was already near him, but Cas pressed closer and tentatively raised an arm. “May I…?”

Dean nodded and moved in closer, letting Cas’s warm arm fall into place around him.  “So what if we’re not in Maine?” he said.  Cas huffed in exasperation, which made him smile a little. “Besides, you said you weren’t cold.”  Though that was almost certainly because of the Grace Dean had been feeding him.

“ _ I’m _ not. You are.”  Cas tried to snuggle closer to Dean, feeling him shaking even though he was trying to hide it.  “We should go inside.”

A tremor went through Dean as Cas held him closer.  Fear?  He forced his voice light.  “Being warm is overrated.” 

“I’m not talking about warm; I would settle for not frostbitten,”  Cas commented dryly.  “I’d hate to have to explain to Sam why we need to get your toes amputated.”

“Sam would get over my toes.”

“You need those to walk.”

“Walking is overrated,” Dean said, and he looked at Cas and smiled.  

“We’d have to carry you everywhere.  It would be ridiculous.” Cas smiled back cautiously.

“Or you could just zap my toes back to being healthy, save us all the trouble of an amputation.”  It was easier being close to him when his body was cold and Cas was so warm.  

“But then you’d never learn not to sit on metal fire escapes in February.” As cautiously as he’d done anything else that night, Cas leaned his head against Dean’s, blowing out a puff of frosty air.

“I’m not big on the whole ‘life-lesson’ thing,” Dean said, frowning at his cold feet.

“I’ve noticed.” Cas hummed softly, not quite a laugh.  A wisp of cloud floated across the sky, and the shadows around them deepened for a few moments. “We should really go in, though.”  Cas squeeze Dean’s shoulder gently.  “You’re shaking badly.”  Releasing Dean, he stood and offered the other man a hand to get to his feet.

Dean took it and let Cas pull him up.  He didn’t let go right away, didn’t move, just looked out into the empty street until Cas squeezed his hand and tugged him to the window.  Then he turned and climbed back into the apartment.  For a moment, he felt like a teenager, sneaking out while Dad and Sam were asleep to get a moment of air and take the car.  Just driving on the unfamiliar streets and trying to get back before Dad woke and killed him for being gone.  But it was only a moment, and then the rush of feeling like he had  _ gotten away  _ with something turned back into the familiar rush of dread.  He wrapped his arms around himself again and shuddered.

Cas frowned worriedly at Dean.  “I have a sweater if you’d like one.”  He pulled the window shut behind them, locking it with an audible click.

“I don’t do sweaters, man.”

“Why don’t you do sweaters?”  Cas came back to stand by Dean, reaching for his hand and gently massaging warmth back into his cold fingers. “Not enough layers?”

“No, because I’m not a fifty-year-old college professor.”  He let Cas take his hand because it was easier to do that than to pull away.  He didn’t like the way his heart was beating on overdrive inside of him.   _ You’re fine _ , he reminded himself.   _ Stop it.  Stop being like this, stop it, you idiot, stop it.   _ He flexed his free hand back so that the cut stretched beneath its stitches.  

“I’m not a fifty-year-old college professor either, and I like sweaters.”  Cas reached for Dean’s other hand, saw him bending his wrist. “Oh.”  He let go of Dean’s fingers.  “Was that— I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m fine,” Dean said, voice quiet and quick.  “It’s fine, fine.”  He certainly wasn’t convincing Cas, but he could barely even focus on that at the moment.  He was too busy trying not to have a meltdown.  Turning away from Cas, he curled his shoulders in and brought his arms up against his chest, hands fisted by his chin.   _ Just breathe.  You’re fine, and you’re upsetting Cas over nothing, you piece of shit, it was fucking nice and you ruined it,  _ again _ , just calm down, stop it, stop, stop, stop _ —

“Dean, you’re not fine.”  Cas circled around in front of the hunter, keeping his distance.  Dean’s entire posture was screaming  _ don’t touch _ , and Cas obeyed the unspoken plea. “Maybe Sam’s right, and we are getting ahead of ourselves.  It hasn’t been all that long since… since everything happened, really. It’s all right that you’re not okay.”

“It’s not all right,” Dean grated.  He couldn’t even look at Cas.  He didn’t want to see the concern on his face, and if he didn’t see Cas, maybe he could just pretend that he wasn’t even there, wasn’t seeing Dean go to pieces in a matter of seconds.  

Cas watched Dean in silence for a few moments. He really was a good con man, Cas thought ruefully. He’d been pretending that he was better so well that Cas had fallen for it.  Maybe Dean had fallen for his own act too. “You might not be able to just brush this off completely,” Cas said gently.  “You have gotten better, at least a little. But not as much as you want Sam and me to think.”

Now Dean looked at Cas, eyes wild and desperate.  He didn’t have the words to reply, didn’t even have the words to talk himself down anymore.  He wanted to break something,  _ anything _ , but Sam was in the other room, and above all else Dean felt he shouldn’t wake him.  He could rip his stitches; that was quiet.  But Cas would stop him, and it would just make things a hundred times worse.  Then he saw the window again and forced himself over to it, reopening it to feel the slap of cold against his face.  He crawled back through, ignoring Cas saying his name in the room, and then he was outside again.  Grabbing a hunk of ice off the railing, he threw it as hard as he could into the street below, and then he took another, and another, just kept chucking them into the street.  He knew Cas had joined him outside, but he ignored him, just like he was ignoring the fact that at some point he had started crying again, which just made him more angry.   This wasn’t right.  He wasn’t supposed to be this way.  He was supposed to be able to make it better.  

There was no more ice, and he was shaking, worse than before.  He wasn’t sure how much of it was from the cold and how much was adrenaline.  His hands were numb, but he didn’t care, he just stood there, each hand tightly gripping the opposite wrist.  The night was still.  

“I can do a lot of things for you,” Cas said softly. Dean didn’t look at him. “But one thing I can’t do is give you time, and right now time is what you need. I know you want things to be normal again.”  Cas hesitated.   _ I do too _ .  “But just trying to force yourself to act normal isn’t going to work.”

Now Dean turned around and looked at Cas.  “You’re wrong,” he said.  “That’s the  _ only  _ way to get back to normal.”

“Because pretending everything is okay has historically been so effective?” Cas raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.  Without giving Dean a chance to respond, he shook his head. “Regardless, this isn’t like anything that’s happened in the past. I think distance is the only thing that will help, unfortunately .”

Dean stilled and just looked at Cas for a long, painful moment.  The tears that he had just managed to push back down rose again in his eyes and spilled over.  “Please,” he said.  “Don’t leave me, Cas, please.  I can’t—”

“No, Dean, that’s not what I meant!”  Cas held his hands out placatingly, still not wanting to touch Dean without explicit permission. “I’m not leaving you.  I just don’t want you to try to act like nothing is wrong and then be angry with yourself because you think you should be better than you are.  This isn’t something we can rush.

Dean shook his head, not looking at Cas as he scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve. 

“Not to change the subject,”  Cas said slowly, when it became clear that Dean wasn’t going to do or say anything else. “But you really are going to damage the nerves in your feet if you keep standing outside barefoot.  Can we have the rest of this conversation inside, please?”

“I don’t want to have this conversation,” Dean said.

“Well, then we can not have this conversation, but we should do it inside.” Cas climbed back into the bedroom, then turned and looked back at Dean pleadingly.

Dean plucked at his shirtsleeves for a moment, then followed Cas, stepping gingerly because of the pain in his feet.  Getting inside the warm building was a relief, and now that he was inside, he didn’t want to be standing anymore, just wanted to curl into a ball and go to sleep and never wake up.  All his energy was gone now, the last of it extinguished at the thought of Cas abandoning him, and he was lost.  He just stood there as Cas closed up the window, staring into the dark room where Sam slept and keeping steady pressure on his wrists so that the thread tugged at the edge of the wounds and kept the pain alive.

“Dean?”  Cas asked, realizing that the hunter was still immobile in the center of the room. Frowning, he came back to stand in front of Dean, half expecting him to have gotten stuck again.  But this stillness was from exhaustion rather than fear.  “You should sleep.”  Cas nodded at the bed.  “I’m not using it; you might as well. I’ll go out into the living room with Sam.”

Dean just blinked at him.  “I don’t think I can,” he said quietly.  

“Staying awake all night isn’t going to help anything,” Cas said gently.

“I’m not good at sleeping anymore.”

“Well, usually practice is how one would improve a skill.” Cas sighed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Dean shook his head.  “I just don’t work right anymore.”

“What’s wrong? I mean, why specifically can’t you sleep.  Maybe it’s something we can fix.”

“No, there’s nothing you can do.”  Dean met his eyes for a moment, then looked away.  “It scares me, is all.” 

“Even knowing that Sam is here and everything is warded?” Cas deliberately did not include himself in the list of reassurances.

Dean looked at the floor.  “Yeah.  I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Dean.” Cas glanced around the room. “I don’t have much but I do have internet, if you want to just sit in here and watch TV shows on your computer, I suppose.”

“No, I should try.”  He looked at the bed, and then out into the living room.  “So you’re not sleeping?”

“No. I don’t need to right now.” Cas shrugged uncomfortably. 

There was something strange about the thought of sleeping in Cas’s bed.  Probably because he had always expected to end up sleeping there, just under much different circumstances.  With Cas.  Not alone.  And there was something overwhelmingly personal about it.  Even though this apartment looked mostly barren, with barely any sign that someone had been living there for months, a bedroom was still a bedroom, and it was private and intimate in a way that made Dean feel uncertain.  But maybe a bed would be better than a couch.  “Okay,” he said.  “I’ll try sleeping here.”  He didn’t move, though, just looked sadly at Cas.

“All right.” Cas didn’t move immediately either, but when it was clear that Dean was waiting for him to do something he turned and headed for the door. “I’ll leave it open,” he promised, although Dean hadn’t asked him to.  “And Sam and I are both right out here if you need us.”

“Thanks,” Dean said softly, and watched him go into the other room before carefully stepping towards the bed.  He hesitated for a moment, a hand on the fleece blanket, fiddling with the edge of it, then carefully parted back the covers and got into the bed.  

It smelled like Cas.  He shut his eyes and tried to ignore it, tried to push away the fact that it wasn’t supposed to be like this, it was never supposed to happen this way.  Cas was supposed to be  _ here _ , not in the other room, but that just wasn’t possible anymore.  He had already cried too much today, but he couldn’t stop it, and he wept quietly into the pillow, too soft for Cas to hear from the other room.  He cried for a long time, and somewhere in the haziness between weeping and calm, he fell asleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas updates his relationship status to “It’s complicated”  
> ~flings Sam out the window~  
> Dean is #Weeb4Life


End file.
